You're No Enigma
by yomamasd
Summary: Sherlock had the unique ability to make almost everyone hate him, which came in useful while scaring off tenants upstairs. Unfortunately, the new American student who moved in wasn't like anyone else he has the misfortune of meeting. The sarcastic, foul-mouthed, alcoholic addict was a puzzle he couldn't entirely solve. CHAP 2-11 UNDER CONSTRUCTION.
1. Chapter 1

**HELLO MY LOVELIES. Welcome to my story, and I hope you enjoy this mess I've put up. (All rights are reserved to BBC and the creators of Sherlock, only the Original Character's and the plot belongs to me)**

 **I must warn you - THIS STORY IS CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION. As of this moment, I have fixed chapters 1-5, and I'm working on 6 as I'm typing this message. I'm changing minor details, but they will still conflict with the flow from chapter to chapter. So new readers, sorry for the confusion but I will fix up to chapter 11 and put up chapter 12 as soon as I can.**

 **Also disclaimer for the new readers, this story is rated M - which means this story contains adult themes, explicit sex scenes, strong use of language very frequently, vivid descriptions of violence, mentions of rape, child abuse and heavy drug/alcohol abuse. Please continue reading at your own discretion.**

 **After I'm done updating all the chapters, I would suggest all my followers to go back and read from chapter one, just to keep up with the changes I've made. Sorry for the inconvenience and the confusion**

 **ENJOY! AND WHEN I'M DONE DON'T FORGET TO FOLLOW/FAVORITE MY STORY. AND PLEASE DO NOT FORGET TO PUT ON A REVIEW. I really love reviews and they help me keep motivated to finish a story.**

* * *

She blamed the shit tequila here. When she went to the store across her hotel and asked for tequila, they had no idea what it was. She was already beginning to regret coming to England to study abroad, but she needed to get away, for a while at least. She was forced to quench her thirst at a local Wetherspoons, where the shit, watered-down tequila not only gave her a hangover, but actually made her sick. She winced, pulling out her glasses and rubbing her tired eyes. She really let herself go this couple of years. Tucking her glasses over her head, she reached out for her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking one of the death sticks and pressing it against her lips. Ayra fucking hated cigarettes, she really didn't like drinking either, nor did she thoroughly enjoy getting high. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

It was been a week filled with a mixed array of emotions – mostly relief, and freedom. Taking a drag of her cigarette, she tucked away strands of sweaty hair and fanned herself. "Jesus fuck I feel like the underside of a sweaty pair of balls…" she whispered to herself, taking another long drag.

The sorry excuse for a sun was beginning to set behind the gloomy outline, painting the grey sky shades of dark purple. She could feel sweat drip down your neck, probably soaking through her thick sweatshirt. With the half-lit cigarette on her lip, she went back to the truck and pulled out another box, dragging it out. She pulled down the last of her boxes down from the truck, her fatigue body practically crashing on the pavement. She didn't care if people stepped on her – she was too tired and hungover to notice anyhow.

"Oh dear… look at you." An elderly voice said, somewhere close. Arya popped open her eyes, revealing her strange mismatched eyes. It was a genetic defect, something she wasn't always particularly proud of; but as time went on, she learned to embrace her uniqueness and understand it was indeed beautiful at times. "This is dreadful… I told you to wait for the boys.

"I used to be quite the athlete back in my day Mrs. Hudson." Arya smiled, her left cheek denting into a dimple. "Guess you lose the physical attributes with age."

"Ooh, hush now." Mrs. Hudson giggled, playfully fanning her new tenant. "You are on top of the Everest – still so young and beautiful. What will you do when you come to my age?"

"I tend not to think that far ahead anymore." Arya shrugged, picking herself up. Her new landlady handed her a bottle of water, which Arya gulped down in no second. She could feel the cold water run down her sore, dry throat, bringing it at ease. "Don't have anything stronger?" Ayra smirked.

The elder lady smiled and shook her head. "Oh I like you Ayra." Mrs. Hudson took a seat to the lovely new girl she rented 221A off to, nervously biting her nails. Being sharp as she was, Arya knit her eyebrows, tilting her head to observe the kind lady who gave her a home. "If you don't mind me asking, Mrs. Hudson, you seem worried."

"Oh… it's just that… I haven't really told the boys about you." Mrs. Hudson murmured.

"You mean my neighbors?" Arya asked, pulling her long, thick hair up to a ponytail.

"Yes… those two." Mrs. Hudson said, her face contorted into worry.

"I sense they aren't very pleasant." Arya commented sarcastically, although she herself was growing worried.

"Oh, no… honey. The boys are wonderful." Mrs. Hudson chimed in enthusiastically. "John… you're going to love him. Quiet and polite, that one is; always ready to help."

"But?" Arya asked, leaning closer to Mrs. Hudson.

"But Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson shrugged. "God knows how he's going to react."

"He didn't want any more tenants?" Arya asked, finally gaining the strength to stand up. "What is he, like some kind of anti-social asshole?"

"Oh, not at all, Sherlock is such a sweet boy… if you try to understand him." Mrs. Hudson convinced her, shaking her wispy hair. "But, unfortunately, that's how most people perceive him."

"It's okay, I'm used to handling the odd ones, if you will." Arya winked, making her landlady nervously smile. "It seems like you treat those two like your own children. One is the beacon of pride, the other is the troublemaker."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Someone with a deep baritone voice shouted from few feet away, making both Arya and Mrs. Hudson jump in sudden intrusion. Arya widened her eyes, nervously ticking her irises. There, she was greeted with a tall, pale man in a thick wool coat, his hands in his pocket and neck hidden with a musky blue scarf. His eyes were shooting arrows, but they were entrancing nonetheless – with a beautiful shade of crystal blue. With his dark mop of unruly curls and the alabaster skin, what was most striking about him were his sharp cheekbones, chiseled to perfection. He was fucking gorgeous.

Arya gulped, sniffing in the chilly air. The last thing she needed was living with a sex bomb. "Please explain why there are so many boxes here filled with household and clothing items, shipped from… LAX." He said, squinting down at the boxes. Arya crooked her eyebrows, looking down at her packages – there weren't any labels on his side.

"How do you know they are from LAX?" Arya asked, finally making the man of the hour look up at her. Sherlock froze, looking at a new clueless face. The girl, about average height of five-four, had her head tilted, her eyes fixed on him. She was… rare-looking, as he could deduce. Her face certainly wasn't one to blend in within thousands – with her round face, honey-brown skin, thick dark brown hair and heterochromic eyes.

Sherlock stood straighter, fixing his coat. "I also know they have been in England a week now, as have you, shipped from Southern California – Orange County." He said, watching the girl's eyes widen.

Ayra tilted her head and looked at him, narrowing her eyes. Ayra was a very, very careful person, and she did her research. She knew exactly who he was - Sherlock Holmes, a self-acclaimed "consulting detective"; he was a sociopathic, enigmatic genius who helped the police solve crimes for his own pleasures. He was of no threat to her, so what he was saying _was_ based on his superior sense of observation. Ayra straightened her back and smiled, her left cheek denting. "Please continue, you were starting to reel me in."

The man had a startled expression on his face, giving her the impression that her reaction was rather uncommon. He crooked his bushy eyebrows, squinting even more.

"Please don't get him started." Another voice popped behind the taller guy. This one was much, much shorter – mid-forties, light graying hair and tanned skin. Dr. John Watson who was discharged from active duty in Afghanistan four months ago. In his report it was said he had a psychosomatic limp, but that seemed to have disappeared as he was standing straight, his feet planted on the ground. "Hello… I'm John." He said, extending out his hand. Arya took in gladly, shaking it firmly. Strong handshake, tan-line only below the wrist… smelled like hospital disinfectants.

"Hi… John?" She asked. "I'm the new girl."

"Mrs. Hudson. Explain yourself." Sherlock demanded, cowering over the poor lady.

"I need a tenant!" she practically screamed, making everyone in the street look at the little drama show. "I have a perfect flat, laying bare… all because you're insufferable in most people's standards – I need the money Holmes!"

"I said no more tenants." Sherlock chewed out.

"And why should she have to listen to you?" Arya asked, putting her hands on her hips. "Apologize to the poor woman."

"Mrs. Hudson has more money than you can imagine." Sherlock waved his hand in the air, heading for the green door. "She doesn't need _this_ circus show!"

"Sherlock!" John whined, watching the door get forcefully shut. "I am so sorry." Sherlock Holmes said nothing, but dramatically turned away and stormed through the open door, disappearing into the hallway. Even from the bustling of Baker Street, she could hear Sherlock thump his way up the stairs forcefully.

"You do not need to apologize on behalf of a grown man, John." Arya assured, giving him a warm smile. John nodded, without question immediately reaching for her boxes and luggage and dragging them towards the door. Arya let out a breath of relief – at least John could balance out the environment.

"Wait… somethings off." John said, putting the first box inside.

"What?" Arya asked, looking at him.

"He… he didn't finish." John murmured, looking up the narrow set of stairs, the wallpaper slowly wearing off.

"Finish what?" Arya asked, tucking a strand of hair away from her face, throwing the finished bud of cigarette on the floor and stomping on it.

"Showing off."

* * *

Sherlock wasted the first hour pacing back and forth in his living room, the next unknown amount of time locked in his Mind Palace. His memories were his only escape when it came to tedious times such as these. He pays Mrs. Hudson handsomely, and she already is filthy rich… why did she have to add a girl to all this mess? This flat had no place for the ordinary.

Although many things told Sherlock she wasn't entirely ordinary – first was her reaction to his deductions. Most people blabber on nonsense and throw insults with their privacy intruded… she was _calm_.

Sherlock jumped out of his thoughts, when that face he was thinking about popped in front of him, that mischievous smile plastered on her face. Her glasses hung on the bridge of her nose as she fluttered her long eyelashes and looked at him, with those strange eyes. There was something about them, other than the obvious fact they were two different colors. Behind the pleasant warmness, lay something cold, and calculative. He crooked his eyebrows, straightening his back. "What are you doing here?"

"Seriously… you just noticed?" She asked, swinging her leg back and forth while tucking the other one over John's armchair. "It has literally been ten minutes."

"I was thinking." Sherlock mumbled, fixing his coat. "What are you doing here?"

"What is it? Hallucinogens or opioids?" the girl asked, tilting her head. Sherlock could feel his muscles tightened, his cupid lips formed into thin line as he gritted his teeth.

"I am clean!" He announced, using his lanky legs to hop off his chair. He circled around her like a predator, watching her still amused reaction – why wouldn't she just freak out and run away like the others. "My original question, why are you here?"

"All of the above I guess, I like that." She mumbled, rolling her eyes comically. "Oh… right… John said you didn't finish. Still have more tricks up your expensive suit sleeve."

"You're really here for me to tell you your life story?" Sherlock asked. "Fine… if this is what you wish." By this time, a worried Mrs. Hudson and John appeared from the kitchen, both ready for Sherlock to explode into his usual rude being.

"Twenty-three… or twenty-four… no twenty-three. Bangladeshi parentage, but grew up in America most of your life. You are well traveled, probably because your father worked a job which required you to move a lot… explains your ease with foreigners and new cultures. You graduated with honors from UC Berkley, now you're here to pursue your postgraduate degree… I'm guessing either Kings College or LSE. You were quite the trouble maker in your university years. The Mascot shirt you're wearing is rather old, with beer and tequila stains from three years ago still on it. College was your first break from a conservative home, which lead you to act out against norms, but that bewildering lifestyle stuck to you pretty hard as you did grow quite a bit drinking habit, and also enjoy the occasional high."

Her plump lips were parted, not in rage, but in amazement. "Fascinating." She mumbled, making John and Mrs. Hudson exchange looks. "That… was… fucking amazing." She exclaimed.

Sherlock looked down at the girl, his nose wrinkled in confusion. "You think so?" he asked, completely unsure – so far only John has been so amazed with Sherlock's sense of observation; everyone else just… found it to be creepy.

"Of course!" She blurted out in excitement. "I mean I am not all that amused that you had to announce that I enjoy the occasional drink in front of a group of strangers, but that was still dope."

"That's one odd way of looking at this." Sherlock frowned, moving her aside. He stopped, watching his beloved dining table cleared out of his test tubes and lab equipment's and filled with food. "What is this?"

"Food… ever had it before?" the unnamed girl shoved past him, taking a seat. "I ordered Chinese because I am sure everyone is as famished as I am."

"We don't eat in here." Sherlock commented grumpily. "This is for my experiments." Whoever she was, already sat down and began chowing down on her meal hungrily.

"Sherlock, nothing was destroyed. We just got really hungry from moving all her stuff." John said, in between taking small bites of his food. "Just sit down and calm down for a while… will ya?"

"I don't eat while I'm on a case." Sherlock pouted, crossing his arms and looking at the takeout's as if they were poison.

"What planet are you from?" the girl asked, her mouth full of food. "Don't eat… you're fucking bizarre."

"Please refrain from talking when you're mimicking Gargantuan." Sherlock said, creasing his eyebrows. "It's unappealing."

"Does it look like I care about appeal right now?" the girl asked, her food finally gulped down.

"Your eyebrows are perfectly tinted and you follow a daily skincare routine, not to mention you have three cartons labeled 'makeup'… and let's not even talk about the clothes." Sherlock murmured. "So, I would say… yes."

"Wow you're like, the queen bitch of this place huh? That takes a little pressure off of me." She said again. "Oh, by the way… my name is Arya Chowdhury." Sherlock nodded, acknowledging her. He momentarily phased out as everyone ignored his presence, eating and conversing like ordinary people do. He looked at their new tenant, unsettlingly pleasant with everything that's thrown her way. He narrowed his eyes – the girl had a deeper layer he yet did not peel.

"So, how many did I get right?" Sherlock asked, eager to keep his perfect track record. His usual monotone and cold expression turned into a smile – these were the only occasions Sherlock would genuinely have a reason to stretch his facial muscles. Arya stopped eating and looked at him, tucking away strands of her baby hair and smiled at him.

"I'd say about five percent." Ayra shrugged. "Ya need to do better than that, Mr. Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

Ayra tapped her pen impatiently against the desk, twirling the pen around her fingers. She looked around and pulled a small silver flask from her bag, pouring a little bit of the dark liquid into her coffee. She took a sip of the spiked drink and smiled as the alcohol burned down her throat. The smile immediately disappeared when she saw it was just ten in the morning. How much of a drinking problem does she have that she feels compelled to make her morning coffee Irish? She pulled open her laptop screen and continued to reread Sherlock's website. The first time she read _'Science of Deduction'_ , she thought it was utter bullshit. But now that she met the guy, and she is aware of the _Holmes_ reputation, things actually started to make sense.

She has never been this amused – the man _was_ pure genius, and she knew geniuses in her workplace. He could identify two hundred and forty-three types of tobacco ash just by looking at them. Arya smiled, a small snort escaping her lips. She could probably let his shitty attitude slide just because his mind was _this_ enigmatic. She reached for the cup of hot, steaming coffee resting next to her laptop, and wrapped her plump lips on the lid. She hummed lightly as the hot mixture of coffee and rum trickled down her throat, steading her heartbeat.

"He can _deduce_ a software programmer by their tie and a pilot by their left thumb." Arya mumbled to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. "That actually fucking makes sense." She squinted her eyes and moved closer to the screen, reading intently when someone coughed behind her.

"Sorry." A strong Irish accent came behind her, making Arya turn around. A guy, possibly a few years older than her was standing with her wallet in his hand. She crooked her eyebrows, tilting her head. "I'm sorry, but you dropped this in the Starbucks. I was about to drop it in the lost and found when I saw you sitting here."

"Oh my god, thank you!" Arya exclaimed, taking her wallet from his hand and shoving it inside her bag. "You saw my ID?"

"Yes, your Californian Driver's license was in there; I just thought you were still inside or something…" He mumbled, cheeks bright red. "I wasn't looking to steal or anything like that, don't get me wrong."

"I would look for an ID too." Ayra said with a wink, checking her time. Ayra bit her lip nervously, noticing the man's gaze fixated on her laptop screen. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something uncomfortably shifty about this guy – whether it be his unwavering dark eyes or his nonchalant expression, there was something there that didn't seem… _right_. Arya moved her eyes away from him, wandering what to say next.

"Have a good day miss." He said, moving back a few steps.

"I'm so sorry I can't offer anything; my class is about to start now." Ayra said, shrugging her shoulders.

"It's alright, it was nice meeting you-" the guy said, taking steps back until he crashed against the booth behind him, making him wince in pain.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Ayra rushed by his side, pulling him up by his hand. The guy was rather small and skinny, making Ayra pull him up with ease. He held onto her hand tightly, his palms sweaty.

"Yeah, just… didn't see where I was going." He said, straightening himself up. "I'm sorry it may seem sudden, but can I have your number?" Ayra blinked a few times, crossing her arms. This was nothing new for her unfortunately. Ayra sighed internally, but managed to keep her expression perfectly neutral. Why do men always believe that kind behavior is an invitation for them to park their junk in her trunk. Ayra smiled and looked down – she just didn't have a right feeling about this guy, and she always trusted her gut feeling.

"I'm sorry, but I just got here and don't have a number yet, but I do have a houseline." Ayra said, quickly scribbling down a made-up number. She's had her fair-share of involvement with shifty characters, but that was enough for a lifetime. "My name is Ayra by the way."

"Hi, I'm Jim." He said, giving her a nervous smile. "It was nice meeting you."

"Thank you for returning my wallet." Ayra said, shoving her laptop in her bag. She gathered her belongings and rushed out of scene, feeling Jim's stare burn her back. He was nice – he _seemed_ nice… but what was there about him that made her so uncomfortable.

Blowing out a breath of frustration, Ayra rushed out of the library, still having the eerie sensation that she was being watched. She wasn't wrong.

* * *

Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the laptop screen, lacing his fingers together and resting them on his chin. Cases have been tedious, and desperate times called for desperate measures… even if it meant solving this… petty 'crime'. Sherlock didn't want to go there to prove something for himself, after all, he was above what other people thought.

"Is that my computer?" John asked, his voice coming from the kitchen. Sherlock continued to type his reply, watching John from the corner of his eye.

"Of course." He simply replied.

"What?" John asked, completely bewildered. Being Sherlock's flatmate had its excitements, but it also meant zero privacy.

"Mine was in the bedroom." Sherlock mumbled.

"What? You couldn't be bothered to get up?" John asked, watching the door swing open. Ayra rushed inside and crashed on Sherlock's couch, throwing her bag down on the floor and sinking in.

"That's my seat." Sherlock commented, without looking back.

"Fuck off." Ayra mumbled, moving her long hair out of her face. John tried not to stare at her, but Ayra was, very, very attractive. In the two weeks she's lived with them, John has always seen her in oversized pajamas – and she was still gorgeous then. But now that she had tidied up…

"First day of classes went well?" John asked, watching Ayra bite her lip.

"Yeah, classes were actually great but-" Ayra continued when Sherlock interrupted her.

"But people are tedious." Sherlock finished, shutting the laptop screen.

"Ugh, yes." Ayra groaned, resting her head on the backrest. "Science of Deduction made my day considerably interesting." Ayra turned her head and gave him a sly smile, making Sherlock turn around, his bushy ginger eyebrows creased into a frown.

"Stop being cynical of my work." Sherlock spoke his voice sharp.

"You are rather sensitive for a 'high-functioning sociopath'. Geez, I wasn't being sarcastic – I mean it." Ayra laughed, shaking her head. "Sherlock, I can see why the things on your website can fly over people's head… but it actually all made sense."

"What, you can't be serious." John scoffed. "Telling apart a pilot by their left thumb?"

"Being a pilot means pushing most controls using your thumb. I would recon it is faster in reflex than most, particularly the left one." Ayra suggested, making John widen his eyes.

"That is exactly the reason." Sherlock chirped in, a rare smile on his face. "Most aren't bright enough to notice."

"I'm not most." Ayra made a sour face, flipping her hair back. Without warning Sherlock rose from the wooden chair and reached for his coat, wrapping his usual coarse blue scarf around his neck.

"Fancy going to the bank?" Sherlock spoke, looking at John and Ayra.

"The bank?" John asked, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Eww, I would think you'd choose a case more interesting than money laundering or embezzlement." Ayra crunched her nose, nonetheless picking up her bag from the floor.

"I believe it's neither of those." Sherlock commented, swiftly heading out the door.

* * *

Ayra tapped her fingers on her thighs impatiently, looking around the office. The office was practically the size of her apartment, overlooking the beautiful London skyline. From the decorations, she could gather this was a young man's office – with modern designer furniture and sleek gadgets. She blew out a breath and turned around when she heard the door to the office open.

"Sherlock Holmes" A man strutted in, in a very expensive suit and cocky smile plastered on his face. Ayra couldn't help but roll her eyes – she already knew the type and she loathed it.

Sherlock gets up from his seat and extend his hand, with both of other man's hand around his. Typical exertion of power. "Sabastian."

"Howdy buddy. How long has it been since I last clapped eyes on you, eight years?" He gloated. So they were in school together – undoubtedly Cambridge with his diploma hanging on the wall. Without replying, Sherlock narrowed his eyes on the man, and Ayra could already sense the dislike – and she couldn't blame him.

"This is my friend, John Watson." Sherlock said briskly, watching Sabastian's eyes bewilder.

" _Friend_?" He emphasizes, looking at John, and then finally at Ayra. She closed her eyes in frustration when he noticed the way he was looking at her, his mouth slightly parted – if only she could stab him in that smug face of his.

"Colleague." John corrected awkwardly.

"This a colleague too then?" he asked, his hand extended out to Ayra. She exaggerated her eye roll, making sure he could see it.

"No, _friend_." Ayra said, a bitter smile on her face. She could visibly see his spirits crush, something she thoroughly enjoy. From the corner of her eyes she saw Sherlock eyeing her curiously, making her smile.

"Right then…" Sabastian takes his seat, blowing out a breath of frustration. "Well, grab a phew. D'you need anything? Coffee? Water?"

"No thank you." John answered while both Ayra and Sherlock shook their head. Ayra didn't know what case he had, but she already regretted coming here. Men like Sabastian were something to make a bad day worse.

"So, you're doing well. Been abroad a lot." Sherlock commented, making Ayra curious as to how he pointed that out. Without making it obvious, she flicks her eyes over the man, her eyes stopping at the watch. The time was wrong, and it seemed eleven hours ahead.

"Well, some." Sabastian commented, all too proud of himself. His gaze flicks over at Arya again, his eyes filled with disbelief.

"Flying all around the world, twice in one month?" Sherlock said, a fake smile on his chiseled face. John looked up at Sherlock, his expression at confusion while Sabastian just begins laughing, pointing at Sherlock.

"Right, you're doing that thing." Sabastian said, pushing his back against the chair. "We were in uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock snapped, his eyes dropping ins frustration.

"He could look at you and tell you your whole life's story." Sabastian laughed.

"Yes, I've seen him do it." John replied politely, trying to counteract the rudeness of Sherlock and Ayra combined.

"Put the wind up on everybody. We hated him." He said, making Ayra clench her fist. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? She bit the inside of her lip nervously, tapping her fingers on her thighs again. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Sherlock look down, his eyes momentarily filled with pain, only making her clench her fist harder.

Sherlock was no sociopath that people thought he was – and everyone took advantage of the act he put up… and it was simply… so frustrating. She didn't need to know how much Sabastian donated to charity… she already hated him.

"You'd come down to breakfast at the Formal Hall and this _freak_ would know you'd been shagging the previous night." Sabastian said.

"To whom, _you_?" Ayra commented, making John kick her in the foot under the table. "I'm sorry you don't strike me as the type to get any in college-"

"You're rather rude." Sabastian commented, a malicious grin on his face. Ayra pulled her phone out of her pocket, washing him out.

"Wonderful. We have something in common." She answered, her tone bored.

That wasn't necessary. _SH_

Did I ever tell you that watching the life die from a douche's eyes is my favorite hobby. And you don't need to thank me bebe ;) _AC_

"Anyhoo. I'm glad you could make it over. We had a break-in." Sabastian said, getting up from his chair and leading them out of the office. Ayra maintained a safe distance away from him scanning around the bustling cubicles around her.

"Sir Williams office – the banks former chairman. The room has been left here like a sort of a memorial. Someone broke in late last night." Sabastian informed. Ayra looked around her, her eyes automatically going to the surveillance tapes.

"What did they steal?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing, just left a message." Sabastian said as he pulled out a security card to scan on the door, pulling it open. Inside lay an antique, pure mahogany wood desk with a painted portrait of an old man in a suit. Yet on top of the painting, lay a horizontal stripe over the man's eyes, and a shape resembling the number '8', both tagged in yellow spray paint.

* * *

Ayra carefully dug the corner of her nails, biting along the safe spot of her nails. Her gaze was fixated on the footage, while dick-head operated the video. "Sixty seconds apart". Sabastian informed, showing the footage of a man spraying the graffiti on the portrait, and the next minute he vanished into thin air. "So, someone came up here middle of the night, splashed paint around, then left within a minute."

"How many ways into that office?" Sherlock asked, biting his lower lip.

"Well, that's where this gets really interesting." Sabastian noted. "Every floor open in this bank, gets logged in the lobby system. Every walk-in cupboard, every toilet."

"And it shows that the door didn't open last night." Sherlock said.

"So, you think it's an inside job." Ayra said thoughtfully. "That's stupid considering they just left a message for someone and this is one of the top banks in Europe."

"There is a hole in our security system. Find it and we'll pay you – five figures." Sabastian reaches for the inside of his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope and handing it to Sherlock. "This is an advance. Tell me how he got in, there's a bigger one on its way."

"I don't need an incentive, Sabastian." Sherlock chewed out, pushing him aside and walking past. Ayra widened her eyes and John, who quickly reached for the check.

"He's obviously only kidding you." John chuckled nervously. "May I look after that for him." Without a word, Sabastian hands John the envelop, simply standing there to be ignored.

"I can't wrap my head around this possibility." Sabastian said, his face laced with a cocky malice.

"What possibility?" Ayra asked, arching her eyebrow.

"I mean you and him." he said, coming closer to her. Ayra moved back slightly and crooked her eyebrows in annoyance, growing weary. "Is there, a, um, number I can contact-"

"What number?" John asked cluelessly, as it took him a second to click, "Wait a minute-"

"Excuse me? Do you think I'm a fucking escort?" Ayra exclaimed, her internal gears ready to rip this guy apart with her bare hands.

"I mean no offense…" He stuttered. "It's just… we called him a virgin _freak_." Ayra let out a sharp sigh and shook her head in disbelief, looking at John and putting a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I'd would much rather, no sorry… I would most certainly always fuck Sherlock over any sort of man resembling your character." Ayra said, pulling John away. "Food for thought – this is perhaps why you need to seek the comfort of high-end escorts and sugar babies without ever consenting into a meaningful relationship; coming home to your vast loft, completely empty like it's always going to be."

Without looking back, Ayra dragged John away with her towards the escalator without batting an eye. John on the other hand remained completely baffled. Sensing his confusion, Ayra looked down and smiled, the dimples in her cheeks deepening.

"You are an absolute nutter, you know that?" John said, the corner of his lips perking. "Can you fucking believe the nerve on that lad? Calling you a prostitute, and in front of me at that… the audacity rich people think they are entitled to, am I'right?."

"I know." Ayra said. "I really hate men like him, so fucking much."

"Well, he certainly has a lasting impression." John said, nodding his head. "Utter cock."

"Take of that suit and you'd have a real hard time finding that prick of his." Ayra commented, crooking her eyebrows. "It's the low self-esteem that makes him act that way."

"Sherlock always shows off." John said.

"But he is anything but shit at what he does. Personality… a bit shaky." Ayra said, crossing her arms, a bright smile on her face. "But sometimes it's actually endearing, and his beautiful face makes up for it."

"You may be the first person, ever, to say that." John said chuckling. "That would freak Sherlock out and he would want to act like more of a prick."

"Open the envelop – the only thing that shit will ever be good for is money." Ayra said, leaning over John's shoulder to see a rather impression balance. John closed the envelop and looked up, letting out an exasperated breath.

"My god-" John murmured. "That… will certainly… pay all the bills." Ayra looked at the hefty amount on the check and shoved John, raising her eyebrows.

"Might just put out to him for this money." Ayra said, wrinkling her nose with a mischievous smile. "Mamma has a shopping habit to maintain."

"I might put out too." John said, striding down like a soldier would, his back straight and paces fast. "Yet I can't help but notice you have a special hatred for finance men in suits."

Ayra's smile disappeared, turning into a deep frown. "Unfortunately, I've made some dire mistakes in college, and I'm just trying learn from my mistakes. I just took an aggressive tone."

"Everyone made dire mistakes in uni." John commented. "It's right of passage."

Ayra bit her lower lip nervously. She has made dire mistakes alright, but now was the time for her to fix herself. She looked down, her hands shaking. She squinted her eyes close and took in a sharp breath through her nose. If she doesn't get her shit together, she is done for.

* * *

Ayra walked into a strange scene – everyone at the office looking at Sherlock, while he kept ducking and prancing around the floor. The entire time his concentration was fixed on the graffiti ahead.

"What in the bloody hell is he doing?" John asked, his eyebrows shot up.

"Trying to determine who this message was meant for." Arya said. "Sir William is dead – this message was left for someone who will get a direct view to it when they enter their office."

"You know, sometimes it freaks me out that you're just like him." John said.

"I'm not like him." Ayra said, shaking her head. "I'm just far more observant than most. And I like to consider myself a profiler… look at people's personality – and I can't say if they smoke a certain type of cigarette by the residue left on their clothing."

"Chose a good course for yourself." John commented, nodding his head.

"Couldn't think myself doing anything else." Ayra said, noticing Sherlock found the office he was looking for, a smile of determination on his face. Ayra and John move behind him, checking on the name of Edward Van Coon.

Sherlock took the placard and shoved it in his pocket, tilting his head in motion to leave.

"Two trips around the world in one month; how'd you know?" John asked as Sherlock smiled in response.

"Ayra why don't you explain." Sherlock said, turning around and giving her a charming smile.

"His watch." Ayra said, narrowing her eyes. "The date and time was wrong- it was set 12 hours ahead."

"And crossed the deadline twice but he didn't alter it." Sherlock said. "The one month part – New Breitling, just came out this February."

"Should we stay around and sniff a little longer." John suggested.

"I already got what I needed, thanks." Sherlock said.

"Edward Van Coon – that's the name you found for the message." Ayra said. "But there are three hundred people working in that floor, so how'd you narrow it down so quickly?"

"Pillars and cubicles narrow the field considerably, only leading to one office." Sherlock noted. "And traders work around the clock, so someone with trading with Hong Kong, like Van Coon, would come into the office at midnight."

"Only leaving the message for him." Ayra said, stopping at the sidewalk.

"Exactly." Sherlock said, adding a wink. "Now, there can't be that many Van Coons in the phone book – Taxi!"

* * *

Sherlock impatiently buzzed the doorbell to Van Coon's apartment, looking up at the security camera's.

"So, what do we do, just stand around and wait for him to come back?" John asked, tapping his foot. Ayra moved them aside, pointing up to the handwritten label on the top.

"I think they just moved in." Ayra said. "It's handwritten."

"They could have just replaced it." John suggested.

"No one does that." Sherlock added, putting his finger on the buzzer above and turning around to Ayra. "How good are you at improvising."

"You know I'm good, otherwise you wouldn't ask." Arya said, smiling mischievously and giving him a sly wink. Sherlock smiled proudly in response and pressed the buzzer, making a fine attempt to appear approachable and pulling Ayra into the camera view.

"Hello?" A woman's voice came from the other side.

"Um, hi. We live in the flat below you. I-I don't think we've met." Sherlock said, his voice bitterly sweet.

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in." the woman responded, making Sherlock throw in another smile.

"Actually, sorry to disturb you, but my boyfriend here lost his keys and I left my copy back in my apartment." Ayra said, throwing in a nervous smile for spice.

"Do you want me to buzz you in?" the woman asked.

"Yes please." Sherlock replied. "And can we use your balcony?"

"What?!"


	3. Chapter 3

Ayra looked down her balcony, tapping her fingers impatiently against the railing. What was taking him so long? If felt as if she'd been standing on that balcony forever. Her nose piercing was beginning to painfully burn against her skin as the cold wind hit, and she didn't even want to think about what her other piercings were doing. Her blunt nails began to scratch through the paint on the rod, slowly chipping it away.

"What's your boyfriend upto?" a woman asked behind her, making Ayra look back.

"I don't know- Sherlock!" Ayra screamed, getting no response in return.

"Sherlock?" the woman, whose name Ayra forgot to ask, exclaimed. Ayra ignored her and looked down, watching Sherlock walk into the balcony below her, a pleasant smile on his face.

"You may want to come through the front door now." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and pressing it against his year.

"Yes, Scotland Yard. I'm reporting a murder-" Sherlock said when the resident screamed.

"Murder!" she yelped, looking at Ayra. "Who are you?!"

"Practically the police." Sherlock shouted from underneath. "Except we aren't incompetent. Now can you please spare the drama- we aren't the killers. Ayra!" Looking back and frowning at the woman apologetically, Ayra rushed out the door, without looking back and ran down the stairs.

Her heart was pumping with excitement and anticipation, much like her work. God, she missed work, but it was rather nice to just be a student for a change. Adrenaline pumped through her blood, making her fly through the corridor and slide into the apartment front door. She stopped, not breaking a sweat.

"John what are you doing here?" Ayra asked, watching John yank on the locked door knob, his age lines creased in frustration.

"If only this bastard let me in-" John exclaimed when the door flew wide open. Sherlock stood there, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "What the bloody hell took you so long?"

"Body – dead Van Coon." Sherlock said plainly, taking off and observing every inch of his apartment. While John followed with a line of swears after his roommate, Ayra followed shortly after him, her concentration on his apartment.

Everything you need to know about a person was presented in their home – and Van Coon was precisely who she imagined him to be. Posh apartment with three bedrooms bigger than her entire apartment, seamless marble flooring, crisp white furniture indicating man has no pets, no children… neither ever expects one to roam in house. Everything was dusted and cleaned, but highly unlikely he did it himself so he had a scheduled maid. Being a trader who spent most of his days in China, he didn't spend much time in his home and that was certainly reflected on this apartment. She slowly creaked open the door to his bathroom, examining his belongings. He didn't seem to be the type to use such perfumed products, but they were certainly being used and all rather expensive, meaning he had frequent female companion with him, unlikely a string of them. One night stands wouldn't just come in and use a man's lotion – he had a girlfriend but for some reason this was kept hidden. Perhaps because it was office romance and she may have been his subordinate.

Taking a deep breath, Ayra made her way to his bedroom, where his body was currently lying dead. Entering – a man with his suit still on has a gun discarded next to his right hand, a gunshot wound pierced clean through the side of his templates.

It was unfortunate to say but she was rather prone to seeing dead bodies, yet it was never normal. Taking a deep breath, she moved closer to the body.

"You aren't even the least bit frightened." A deep baritone voice called out behind her, making Ayra turn around. "Most people, seeing a man with a hole in his head would have a panic attack."

"How many times have I gotta say I'm not most, Holmes?" Ayra smirked raising her eyebrow. "Besides, this isn't my first dead body. I was an intern at the-"

"Orange County Crime Lab, yes I'm aware." Sherlock commented, waiving his hand. "Makes your opinions a little bit more credible."

"Why'd you ask then?" Ayra asked, quirking her eyebrows.

"It takes people to get used to death apparently." Sherlock frowned, shrugging his shoulders.

"How much have you stalked me?" Ayra asked, leaning closer to Sherlock.

"I haven't _stalked_ you." Sherlock frowned moving away from her and heading towards the windows. He tried to push them open, but they were sealed shut, from the inside. "All the doors and windows in this house are sealed from the inside, except for this one." Sherlock pointed to the sliding door leading to the balcony.

"Can't imagine the killer use the balcony upstairs to jump in?" Ayra asked, narrowing her eyes at his left thumb. She drew closer to the thump, tilting her head. "We must be looking for Spider-Man then." She murmured to herself.

"Doors sealed from inside, and this clearly looks like potential suicide – so why do you keep on saying murder." Sherlock asked, swiftly turning around and facing her.

"But it is murder." Ayra reassured, taking a seat on the bed casually.

"Yes, but why?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

"The gunshot was fired from the right side, and the gun is laying on his right, but he's left handed." Ayra said, taking out a napkin and lifting his left them. "There's fountain pen ink on his left thumb." Ayra hunched closer to the body, snapping on a pair of latex gloves Sherlock gave her and parting the dead man's lips. "Those and the very suggestive fact that an origami flower is inside his mouth."

Sherlock upturned his lips, almost in surprise. Moving closer to the body, he leaned over her shoulder to see tiny smudges of black ink stained on his left thumb. "That I didn't notice."

"What did you notice then?" Ayra asked curiously.

"Just have to wait until the police arrive." Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and checking the time impatiently.

"So what, you can show off to the commoners?" Ayra giggled, shoving her body off the bed.

"Other's opinion don't matter." Sherlock began when Ayra shut him off.

"You just said mine did." Ayra said, her smile growing wider. "And cut the shit; you're all about showing off. With those expensive suits and perfectly tailored shirt – you want the whole room to be looking at you when you're talking. If you didn't care about what people think you wouldn't be walking around looking like 007."

Sherlock's cupid bowed lips frowned deeper, almost in shock. Blinking rapidly, Sherlock began to pace around her, thinking of what to say next. "I-I like to be presentable. But not for others." Sherlock stuttered, being completely thrown off.

"Okay…" Ayra chuckled sarcastically, her unsettling mismatched eyes gleaming. With the havoc behind them, both Ayra and Sherlock looked behind them, knowing the police have finally arrived.

 _I got off work early. Let's grab tea. Em_

Ayra looked at the screen and narrowed her eyes. A quick smile appeared on her face, which wiped off immediately. Taking a deep breath, she opened the balcony door and moved outside, inhaling the smog-filled city air. Being a diplomat's child meant she had friends all over the world. While it was all too great to rekindle with old friends from high school… it also meant owing people answers.

 _Tea? I want a full dinner with dessert bitch. AC_

 _Tea is supper you twat. Better learn up on your English dialect if you want to spend two years here. Em_

 _I beg to differ. No one in their right mind can call dinner, tea. AC_

Ayra shut her phone screen and looked out at the Canary Warf skyline. She has been off the radar for quite some time, and rumors were quick to fly in an alumni community as small as hers. Although what she heard, things people were saying were saying about her weren't entirely false, well they at least got the drinking and the drugs part right. It's only a miracle the news haven't reach to her mother's ears. She looked back, watching forensic photographer's snaps photos of the body, police in body suits rushing through the crime scene. This is where she wanted to be – at a fucking crime scene. This wasn't normal, but her life was anything but normal.

How long has it been since she went out, on a social event? Not a social event she would have to attend for work, where someone would end up dying, but a real social event where she didn't have to worry about her life? After coming to London, she promised herself she would try to change, try to take things back to normal… face people and their jeering questions. Blinking a few times, she reached her shaking fingers and tapped away.

 _Come to Casida Anita in 30 mins. They have the best fucking wine. Em_

Ayra looked up and blew out a breath of relief _._

 _That's exactly what I need. See you in a few. AC_

Ayra looked up and shoved her thick raven hair away from her face, looking up at the grey sky. She looked back, smirking watching the oblivious, and obviously freshly promoted Detective Inspector watch Sherlock show off in awe. Who wouldn't watch that one in awe?

Taking another heavy breath, Ayra slid open the double panel sliding door, being blasted with the chaotic noises inside. Without saying anything to Sherlock, Ayra approached behind John, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I am in dire need to catch up with my friend." She whispered. "I know he isn't going to tell me anything, but do fill me in as to what's happening."

"'Course." John said, nodding. "Have fun." Ayra nodded her head and smiled. There weren't many people in the world she would trust with her secrets. Actually, there really wasn't anyone, except Em. While she was here in London, Em has been one of her stronger mental support through her toughest time.

"Hi. May I have more wine please?" Ayra asked, tapping her empty glass. "Actually keep it coming whenever you see this glass empty."

"Of course madam." The waiter said politely, ducking his head and mentally judging Ayra's drinking habit. She worked on the other side of retail – she knows how much they judge and shit talk customers.

"You've gone through a whole bottle of Chardonnay." Em commented, taking a puff from her cigarette.

"Stressful conversations need alcohol." Ayra answered, quirking her arched eyebrows. "And lots of it." She took a long drag of her cigarette, pulling the stick out of her mouth and looking at it in disgust. "You know, I always hated smoking." She replied bitterly, putting out the freshly lit cirgarette.

Twirling her pale blonde hair, Em began biting her inside of her lip. "Well in your case, I guess becoming an alcoholic is fitting."

"Not an alcoholic yet, Em." Ayra vexed, sliding her back against the soft cushion of the chair she was sitting in. Ayra closed her eyes and rolled her back, feeling the stiffness come through. "I'm cutting back. I've come down to one bottle of wine a day. With the occasional shots just to help me sleep, and the morning whisky…"

"What do you consider an alcoholic then?" Em asked, tapping off the burning ashes on the tip of her cigarette. "Do you have a therapist here yet?"

Ayra rubbed her burning eyes, shaking her head violently. "That doesn't help."

"You need to talk to someone." Em persisted, taking a large huff of her cigarette.

"I have you." Ayra answered, looking down on her clean plate, with her cutlery neatly placed side-by-side on the plate and her used napkin folded into a square.

"I meant a professional." Em answered. "I may have always been your shoulder to cry on, but this isn't about your petty crush on Justin, or something innit? This is fuckin' out of this world shit you read on Stephen King novels."

"Is it possible that if you obsess about something far too much, even subconsciously, then it will end up happening?" Ayra asked, sipping on her freshly filled glass of luscious wine.

"Yeah-" Em shrugged. "That can most certainly happen. Like I was shagging this Angelina Jolie look-alike. Never again falling for that celeb look-alike bullshit."

"I miss _shagging_." Ayra said. "This path to, you know, get clean and get my shit together before taking a piss test for the FBI is really not working for me." Ayra continued, taking a gulp from her wine. Of course that's what people thought she was going to do, work for the FBI. "I dildo really just doesn't do it for me."

"Really?" Em said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Back when I thought I was straight, I had sex with men and it was appalling, a real penis." Em shivered, making Ayra.

"That's probably because you'd rather have your face buried in a pussy." Ayra slid her back up, sitting up straighter, "I miss the thrill of being pinned down, or having to pin someone down and just ride them raw…"

Em looked at her and shrugged, taking a sip of her wine. "Straight sex is too overrated for me. And you're clearly acting like a pre-pubescent boy too scared to wank off, I mean why are you practicing abstinence anyways? I don't get how it's related."

"Because I'm sick of having sex with someone I hate." Ayra mumbled, finishing off the last bit of her wine. "And I hate most people."

"You're right. You are a ray of sunshine when interacting with people but I know how truly bitter you are on the inside." Em answered, squishing the tiny bud of cigarette on the astray. "I'll give you the contact info for my therapist. She's really goo- who the fuck keeps texting you?" Em asked, knitting her eyebrows.

"My neighbor." Ayra said, biting her lower lip.

"Should I be worried?" Em asked, tilting her head. Ayra looked up from her phone and smiled mischievously, climbing her body closer to the edge of the table.

"A little bit." Ayra said, showing an inch with her fingers. "He has cheekbones even Michelangelo couldn't remake. But he's certainly lacking the social amenities."

"Not surprised." Em shrugged. "Sounds murderous and just your type."

"It's the other way around this time." Ayra explained.

"Works at the Yard?" Em asked, her curiosity peaking.

"No… he's a consulting detective." Ayra said tilting her head. "Or at least that's what he made up the title."

"Red flag." Em said, putting her hand up. "The man doesn't do this for money."

"Doesn't matter…" Ayra said, her hand resting against her cheek. "It's not like I want to marry him or anything… honestly just really wished he would acknowledge my presence like every other straight man does…

"He doesn't flirt with you?" Em asked, laughing. "He gay or something?"

"No I think he's asexual." Ayra said, frowning. "Shame really."

"Bloody fuck." Em smirked, giggling. "Sounds like a real piece of work. Now you know what it's like wanting to shag someone when they have no interest in you."

"Well, it had to happen." Ayra said. "And this only makes me want him more. I mean you want what you can't fucking have. But I know I can't have sex with him, can't do another neighbor."

"Do you have a beacon that only attracts cunts?" Em asked, shaking her head. "You know, some people from our class are coming into London next month, so do you wanna meet them?"

Ayra looked up, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "How much do they know?"

"Only what rumors they heard." Em said. "You know, that you're an alcoholic who dropped out of uni, and got pregnant. You know, the delightful version."

"So knocked me up in this story? And I graduated top of my class in Berkeley. I gave the commencement speech did people not see those pictures? I was their valedictorian for crying out loud." Ayra shrugged. "The shit people come up with is astounding." .

"Well… I need to go love." Em said, beginning to gather her belongings.

"Yeah, me too." Ayra said, looking down at the unread texts on her phone.

"Have fun falling in love with him." Em said smiling.

"Fuck off." Ayra answered, placing her cash inside the check book.

"I think your flat should be close by from here." Em said, looking at her phone. "You don't need a cab or a tube ride."

"Yeah I would rather walk." Ayra answered. "Need to burn the alcohol anyways."

"Correct me if I'm wrong Sherlock, but it almost seems you're a tab bit obsessed with me." Ayra said, wrapping her coat tightly around her body. She heard complete silence from the other side, followed by a sharp breath. Sherlock Holmes didn't seem like the man who ever got any form of casual flirting, but the fact that it rattled him was absolutely delightful.

"What would make you think that?" Sherlock finally asked, his voice deep.

Ayra crinkled the corner of her eyes and smiled. "You left me twenty-four texts asking me where I was. It was really clicking my OCD you really should have made the number twenty-five."

"When you went out of the crime scene, you seemed rather elated to be rekindling with an old, possibly rather close friend, yet you seemed tense, almost nervous to meet her. You didn't really want to go." Sherlock commented.

"Were you watching me instead on focusing on the crime scene? Sherlock I'm flattered." Ayra smirked, tucking her freezing hands in her pockets. Apparently, it would get colder, and Ayra was nowhere used to freezing temperatures. Although she has spent a lot of time traveling and living in different parts of the world, she spent the last four years in Southern California. Her body would take some getting used to.

"Don't be. I simply notice everything." Sherlock said, his voice chewed. Ayra closed her eyes and smiled. She was really getting in his nerves.

"You're wrong by the way." Ayra whispered.

"About what?" Sherlock snapped, his voice alarmed.

"I wasn't stressed about wanting to meet my best friend after three years Sherlock." Ayra giggled. "But I was certainly stressed about something."

"What?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

"You're the detective Mr. Holmes." Ayra said mischievously. "Why don't you look deeper next time." Ayra hung up the phone and shoved it in her pocket, all too proud of herself. This day was considerably better than she thought it would be – and she was surprisingly calm.

Ayra's smile faded as she noticed a black Cadillac tailing forty yards behind her, and it has been tailing her for quite some time now. She looked around and noticed no one around, with just a few dingy CCTV cams. She slowly reached to the inside of her pocket, pulling a knife from the hidden compartment in her jacket and gripped it tightly inside her coat. She stopped when the car caught up to her. She watched with cold eyes as the dark tinted windows rolled down, but she couldn't really see anything inside.

"Hello Ms. Chowdhury. Do get in, I promise this will be quick and harmless." A polished voice came from the inside, the car's interior bathed in darkness.

"Aren't you going to offer me candy first? I heard it's usually the traditional way." Ayra commented, her voice steady. She looked around her cautiously, noticing there wasn't anyone around. Her eyes flashed over the CCTV camera right in front of her again, eyeing it carefully.

"Do you wish to smile for the camera?" the voice asked, when suddenly the camera snapped and focused in on her. Ayra crooked her eyebrows and looked back to the car, her spine running with icy chills. Ayra sighed and looked up at the sky. Not being followed was nice while it lasted.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Ayra asked, her voice sharp as she took a small step back.

"Please get in the car, Ms. Chowdhury." The voice asked again, completely calm. "You are visibly cold, I'll drop you off."

"That's a nice offer." Ayra said pacing through the side. "But you may understand why I'm going to say no."

"You really don't have a choice dear." The car took a small step further, completely blocking her pathway. "I know if you wanted to, you could kill everyone in this car, and in the car in front of me. But let's be civil. I'm not here to harm you." Ayra really wasn't in the mood; if anything happened she would take care of them in the car. She rolled her eyes and muttered a line of swears under her breath as she slid into the leather interior of the car. She found herself facing with a man, possibly in his early forties with thinning red hair dressed in a suit perfectly tailored for him – pin striped and Italian made. On his hand he twirled a black umbrella, but what caught Ayra's attention was his ring. It had the seal of her majesty on it.

She blew a breath of relief and looked up. It wasn't someone trying to kill her – he was government. Yet that wasn't all too comforting either. Beside him sat a woman, in her thirties, and most certainly his secretary. Not once that that brunette look up from her phone and acknowledge Ayra's presence.

"I'm delighted to finally meet you." The man said, fixing his suit. "You've been in England for two weeks are you're already the most intriguing out of the three."

"Three what?" Ayra asked immediately, pulling out her sharp blade and watching the sleek, sharp metal shine.

"No need to intimidate me, Ms. Chowdhury, I know what you're capable of" The man said, his voice perfectly calm. Ayra said nothing, but simply looked at him with her cold eyes. "Sherlock Holmes was always so uncomfortable around women." The unnamed man said, crunching his nose. "Certainly, someone who is seemingly beautiful as you. And you're flirting with him."

"First time for everything I guess?" Ayra suggested, crossing her legs.

"Well… he's having a lot of 'firsts' recently." The man commented, twirling his umbrella. "At least you have some brains."

"You seemed like a nice person at first, but this is going downhill rather fast." Ayra clicked her tongue on the top of her teeth, arching her eyebrows in defiance.

"Oh, I see why he likes you." The man chuckled humorlessly. "You actually make the gears in his head turn. Isn't that… odd."

"Get to the point please." Ayra snapped, her patience wearing thin.

"Sherlock Holmes is an acquaintance of mine… and I like to keep him under constant supervision. For his own well-being, of course." The man said.

"Of course." Ayra exaggerated and widened her eyes, looking out the window. To her surprise, the car was actually headed to the direction of her apartment. Looking back, she examined the man carefully again, when it finally snapped. She could feel the heavy stone on her chest finally beginning to lift off, letting her breath with ease yet again.

"I'll pay you handsomely if you simply report to me his daily musings." The man offered, a smile on his face. "You name the figure."

"Okay." Ayra answered plainly. "I have a shopping habit I need to sustain."

The man widened his eyes, completely taken aback. He was expecting a refusal, but Ayra knew now he was nothing harmless. "You're very trusting, very quickly."

"I know who you are, Mycroft Holmes." Ayra smiled, her eyes looking deeply into his graying eyes. Their eyes were similar, Sherlock and his. "It's nice to put a face to that voice, that would sometimes give me orders."

"What makes you trust me so easily?" the man asked cautiously.

"I don't trust you Mr. Holmes… Anyways, I think it's endearing to care for family so much." Ayra said smiling. "I always wondered how he can afford to have a wardrobe full of Vivienne Westwood suits and get away with all the shit he does. I had my suspicions if you two were related. But it was very easy to connect the dots when I met him."

The man cracked a smile, a genuine one and looked out the window, with his secretary finally looking up from her blackberry. ""You're certainly a bright one Ms. Chowdhury. Your reputation precedes you" the older Holmes commented, nodding his head. "How is sobriety?"

Ayra froze, suddenly all her confidence draining away. She didn't need the head of Mi6 reporting back to her superiors that she was failing to get her life back on track. After all, this is the reason why she was on "forced sabbatical" anyways.

"You really didn't have to bring _that_ up." Ayra exasperated, tilting her head.

"I know. But you getting yourself fixed up concerns me as well. You are one of our best assets." The older Holmes said, the car stopping in front of 221B. "And what are the odds you are to live above none other than Sherlock Holmes."

"Karma is a bitch." Ayra said plainly, eager to slide out of the car.

"Sherlock isn't very fond of me." He said. "I would like our meeting to go unmentioned."

"Why do you want me to babysit him?" Ayra asked, reaching for the door handle. "He's a grown man – he doesn't need your constant prying."

"You did meet Sherlock Holmes, didn't you?" the man quirked. "I worry about him… constantly."

"Wonderful." Ayra answered slowly. "Just pay up. And please don't call me for any… of my regular work. I am beginning to enjoy the mundane student life."

"As you wish." The man said, nodding his head. "I bid you adieu."

Ayra nodded politely and gulped, opening the door to the car and jumping out. Without saying another word, the car disappeared into the bustling street of her neighborhood, leaving her standing in front of the fading green door.

Ayra shook her head and looked around for anything suspicious. Ayra already knew there were two rotating Mi6 agents on surveillance in the opposite building already, so why did Holmes have to get her involved?


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had his eyes closed, his thoughts immersed deep into his Mind Palace. He was at his calmest and least distracted state when he roamed the halls of his mind, looking for answers, yet he felt at unease. He crooked his closed eyes and concentrated harder when he heard the door open downstairs, and close with force.

It was Ayra and she did not seem to be in her usual chipper mood. Opening his pale eyes, Sherlock tilted his head and looked coldly at his open door, listening to the heavy footsteps climb up the creaking wooden stairs. Her right foot falls heavier than her left, which means she sustained an injury in that leg, yet it may not be recent. From her generally fit physique and some other obvious notions, she used to be an athlete.

"Honey I'm home!" Ayra exclaimed, entering the living room and shutting the door behind her. Sherlock looked around him, noting he was the only one present at the room, making him crook his eyebrows in confusion. She hastily took off her thick coat and hung it up, marching up and taking a seat in John's chair. "You know my dog is usually happier when I call him honey."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, not with annoyance, but because he knew she was trying to hide something. Watching the smile off her face wipe off, Ayra leaned back and tucked her legs in.

"You have a lovely family." Ayra commented, placing her cheeks against her palms. Sherlock closed his eyes and thinned his lips in grimace, finally opening them.

"Mycroft payed you a visit?" Sherlock asked.

"That's what his name is?" Ayra chuckled, letting her long hair loose. "My parents aren't the only one trying to intentionally get their children bullied."

"Did he offer you money?" Sherlock posed, moving closer to the edge of his seat.

"Yeah." Ayra answered, nodding her head. "There anything to eat here?" she asked, looking around. Sherlock creased his eyebrows and moved back.

"You just had dinner." Sherlock commented, watching her move over to fridge.

"What? That pretentious fucking tiny meal?" Ayra snorted, shaking her head. Sherlock leaned back and waited for a reaction as soon as she opened the refrigerator.

"Fuck!" Ayra shouted, closing the door in a hurry and moving away from it. "Eyeballs!"

"Experiment." Sherlock answered plainly, knitting his fingers together and resting it under his chin. "Did you agree to spy for him?"

"Yeah." Ayra nodded, still visibly shook. "Why, you want some?" Sherlock blinked his eyes and smiled, the corner of his lips quirking up.

"Yes please." Sherlock answered.

"Well, you can't have any." Ayra said, moving back into John's seat again, throwing her body on the plush material. "I'm paying for grad school and I need to live."

"Uni… dull." Sherlock murmured, making Ayra tilt her head up.

"Education is highly valued in my family and culture." Ayra mumbled, pulling her pants up over her waist. "And I'm fucking Bangladeshi for crying out loud."

"School never teaches you the important things." Sherlock replied quickly, narrowing.

"What? Like solving a murder?" Ayra asked, quirking her eyebrow. "That's not everyone's cup of tea, you know."

"Everything else is pointless." Sherlock said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Want something to eat?" Ayra asked, her thick lips pouted. Sherlock looked at her again, his expression softening.

"I don't eat while I'm on a case." He replied plainly, observing her. Most people just annoyed Sherlock – and always critique his work simply because they were incapable. Ayra didn't annoy him… and that was certainly… strange. John and Mrs. Hudson didn't annoy him either, but they were rather plain. She was anything but plain.

There was something about her that didn't seem right. She was clever, almost, if not equally as clever as he was. It stumped him – to have another one.

Ayra moved her head up and smiled, sitting upright and crossing her legs. "You are quite the shameless flirt Sherlock." Ayra smirked, winking at him. Sherlock widened his eyes and diverted his gaze, nervously clearing his throat.

"I don't _flirt_." Sherlock spat, his words laced with disgust.

"Please." Ayra scoffed. "You love staring at me."

"Your narcissism is off the charts." Sherlock shot back, his voice becoming defensive.

"LOL speak for yourself." Ayra smiled, flashing him a wink. Sherlock shook his head and let out a vexed breath, his pupils narrowing.

"Romance is meaningless." Sherlock said, fiddling his thumbs. Quirking her eyebrows higher, Ayra's smile grew wider, her dimples denting her cheeks.

"What about sex?" Ayra asked. Sherlock froze in place and widened his eyes, his Adams apple bobbing. He took a sharp breath through his nostrils and grimaced. He could feel the heat in his body rising – he didn't want to answer that. What he did away from his work was completely irrelevant.

"Why ask?" He chewed out, his fists tightly balled.

"I think you're quite the kinky one." Ayra commented, getting up from the armchair and walking over to his bookshelf and pulling out a thick book. "What Will Make Her Orgasm Like None Other. A Collection of Kinks and Tricks." Ayra read, a pleasant smile on her face.

"That's research." Sherlock snapped, only watching her smile grow brighter.

"Research?" She giggled.

"Experiment." Sherlock murmured, turning his back to her.

"Who are your subjects?" Ayra asked, opening and flipping through the book. She arched her eyebrows and frowned comically, her left eye considerably darker now. "Damn these are some rather… interesting… what the fuck is that? That can't possibly work."

"Perhaps if you try them then you might just get off." Sherlock commented, smirking. Ayra's smiled wiped off as she shut the book forcefully and shoved it back in the shelve.

"What?" She asked, her voice dangerously low.

"The ceiling is very thin." Sherlock said, pointing up. He was finally starting to get under her skin, and now he knew her weakness.

"Ugh." Ayra exclaimed, heading towards the door. "You listened to me masturbate?!"

"It wasn't my intention." Sherlock commented innocently. "You aren't very quiet. Must be frustration to not have an orgasm, in… four… no five months."

Ayra's mouth gaped open, her mouth curled in a mixture of shock and disgust. "You're such an asshole!" she shouted before shutting the door forcefully. Sherlock smiled and leaned back, his fingers curled together. Finally, he knew what ticks her off – and he was certainly going to use that to his advantage.

John entered the living room, opening the door slightly and popping his head inside. "What did you do?" He asked, looking behind him.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock questioned, his back straight.

"Ayra was screaming at you." John said, pointing to the door. "What'd you say?"

"Pointed out a mere observation." Sherlock answered slowly, closing his eyes and resting his head against the back of the leather armchair. "Apparently, she can't handle the truth."

"What did you say though?" John asked once again.

"I don't think you would want to know." Sherlock answered plainly, his eyes closed. His mind was at ease again. After all, it was bothering him that he couldn't gauge the same reaction for Ayra as he did from other woman, and making her mad certainly did the trick.

Ayra splashed some more cold water on her burning face, trying to cool her skin down. Blindly grabbing her towel, she slowly patted off the excess water and neatly placed the towel back on the drying rack. Did Sherlock Holmes make it his sole mission to piss everyone off?

Ayra reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, observing her body. She looked down on her stomach, and lightly touched one of her fading scars. She got much of her scars lasered off, but some still remained, just to haunt her every time she looked at the mirror.

Due to all the stress eating, she had certainly gained weight – and it really wasn't helping her back problems. Ayra was always big chested and whenever she gained weight, all the fat would make a direct deposit to her breasts, only making them heavier and more tedious to carry around.

She pulled off her bra and took a breath of relief and looked at the mirror. "Sorry, but you know why you need to be locked up." Ayra said, looking at her breasts. "Strict supervision at all times."

Shaking her head, she pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized shirt so she didn't have to wear anything underneath. She opened the bathroom door, her clothes folded in her hand and reached for the phone.

"Fuck me." She murmured, seeing six missed calls. Walking over to the counter and popping her pills, Ayra opened facetime and took a seat in front of the TV, the remote in her hand. "Hi maa." She said cheerfully.

"Where were you?" her mother asked in Bengali, her eyebrows creased in worry. Ayra rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Bathroom." She replied. "I just got back. Had dinner with Em."

"Aw…how is she?" her mother asked, her tone completely changed. Bengali moms were so unpredictable – could go 0 to 100 in matter of seconds.

"You know the answer to that question already." Ayra replied sweetly, opening her refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of white wine.

"Why do you always have to do that?" Her mother exasperated. Ayra looked at the bottle for a white and considered getting a glass. Drinking from the bottle only encouraged her to finish the whole bottle. For once she's going to try drinking from a glass half full, like people usually do.

"Well you know me-" Ayra shrugged, watching carefully as she poured the glass half, watching it with disgust. "I am just a ray of sunshine." She said, pouring more wine to the brim of the glass.

Her mother paused for a while, only hearing her steadying breathing. "Is everything alright?" Her mother asked. "Don't like your classes?" Ayra crooked her eyebrows and sighed. Before everything happened, her mother was her pillar. In a house as unstable has hers, she needed a parent to rely on. Unfortunately most of her life was a lie now, and it did really break her that she couldn't share anything with her. Whether it be for her safety, or to protect her from the disappointment… it was still one of the hardest thing she had to do every day.

"Classes are good. Although I do have one professor who I just want to punch in the face constantly." Ayra said, crashing on the couch. "No reason, he just has one of those faces."

"Can you for once in your life manage to stay out of trouble?" Her mother shrieked, making Ayra close her eyes in frustration. "I worry so much about you, I mean this anger you have-"

"I only getting angry like for one person." Ayra said, pushing herself up on the couch. "And I don't have any other incidents."

"Really?" Her mother posed, making Ayra flutter her eyelashes.

 _Dhaka, Bangladesh (Five Years Ago)_

 _Ayra was always put on bouncer duty, especially because everyone knew Ayra could give a significant ass-kicking to anyone at any time, or a group of people. Obviously she wasn't particularly feeling the festivities as she had another "disagreement" with her father earlier. She looked up, watching the dense starless night of the city, glooming over her. She squinted her eyes to stop the splitting headache, but nothing helped._

" _People who are not invited cannot go in." Someone said in Bengali, making her open her eyes._

" _Yeah, but my cousin invited me." Said the guy. "He goes to your school." Ayra tilted her head and looked at the guy, taking a deep breath. He was a middle-aged man, probably works in a bank but still relies on his family money. His cousin didn't go to her school – that man was just trying to come in for the free booze and prey on young foreign girls._

" _What's your cousin's name?" Ayra asked, taking a step forward. The man looked at her and smiled, making her grip her fists tightly._

" _Mohammad." He replied, with a smile on his face. He looked back on his group of friends and laughed, making Ayra flare her nostrils._

" _Really?" Ayra snapped immediately. "There are approximately 150 million men named Mohammad in this world, but we don't have one in our school." Ayra took another step forward, inches away from the man's nose. "So walk before I smash your and your friends heads against the curb."_

 _The group of men turned to her and laughed, making her squint her eyes and she felt a sudden pressure squeezing against her skull. She couldn't properly hear what they were saying, but as soon as she heard the phrase "magi", She gird her teeth hard against her gums and grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him down on the road. She stood over him and shoved her feet hard against his throat, depriving him of air and choking him._

" _Yo what the fuck is she doing?" Someone shouted from the group, but no one came to his rescue as everyone watched in horror._

" _Repeat what you said." Ayra gritted through her teeth, gridding her foot down hard. The man began to splutter saliva all over, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust. The man attempted to make a sound, but failed as he desperately tied to gasp for air._

" _You crazy bitch you're killing him!" Someone screamed, making Ayra flash her bewildered eyes at the crowd, scanning to find the speaker._

" _What you want to be next?" Ayra said, releasing her foot away from his throat. His blue face slowly returned to color as he gasped for air, his eyes wide in horror and shock. She narrowed her eyes and drew her face closer to his, making him squeal back in horror. "The next time you feel the need to call a girl a whore or try to touch them, think of this day when a seventeen year old girl nearly killed you." She came closer, making the man's breathing stop in sheer horror. "It could have been a lot worse." She whispered. One of the man's friend pulled him up and jolted away, making any other group of bystanders who were planning to get in slowly walk away. All the mutters disappeared in the thin air._

" _Dude you took it a little too far today." Ayra looked back and took the lit cigarette from her friends mouth, taking a drag._

" _Relax." Ayra said, blowing out smoke. "I know what I was doing."_

"I did know what I was doing!" Ayra protested, almost knocking her glass of wine over. "I wasn't going to die."

"There was severe bruising on his neck. And he passed out-" Her mother continued.

"Claimed" Ayra reiterated. "And That was a lesson for him. Not to disrespect women like that. He can probably never look at anyone with poor intentions anymore. So I have no regrets about that."

"You never seem to have regrets about anything." Her mother sighed, making Ayra chew on her bottom lip.

"Can we not- please" Ayra finally said, finishing her wine glass. She looked at the empty glass and had the sudden urge to smash it against the wall, but restraint herself. "You know what, I'll call you later." Ayra said, before hanging up the phone. She took the wine glass and dropped it on the sink, and bend down to find the joint he hid. Turns out Mrs. Hudson had a side business which was very convenient for her. She placed the fat joint against her dry lips and lit it using the stove.

She promised herself she would only have one glass of wine today. Technically she wasn't breaking on her promise, but she needed something to soothe that splitting headache.

Ayra didn't bother to get dressed the next morning, but just ran down to Mrs. Hudson to see if she made any breakfast. Placing a firm knock on her door, her landlady opened it with a wide smile, her wispy hair disheveled. "Oh, good morning dear!"

"More like good afternoon." Ayra snorted, placing her hand over her mouth to cover her yawn. "I didn't want to cook anything today. Happen to have anything to eat?"

"Oh, you're just in luck. John went off for an interview this morning and Sherlock didn't touch his meal." Mrs. Hudson murmured, pulling out a tray with steaming hot traditional English breakfast in it. "Oh… I will have to make you more since these are pork sausages. Would you want beef or turkey?

"Either one of those are fine Mrs. Hudson." Ayra smiled, taking a seat. "It's already more than enough that you're cooking for me from time to time."

"Don't worry about it dear." Mrs. Hudson smiled. "I loved the pie you made the other day! May I have the recipe?"

"Of course. Baking has always been… a sort of therapy for me." Ayra smiled. "Always eat my own creation myself."

"That's good. You need the meat." Mrs. Hudson said, putting her plate down. "You are rather lanky."

Ayra looked up and snorted. "Lanky? What, with my D-cups, Kim-K ass and mermaid thighs? Please…" Ayra shook her head and stabbed her fork on her sausage, biting it in half. "This is heavenly Mrs. Hudson."

"Ayra!" A shout came from upstairs, making her crunch her nose. Mrs. Hudson looked up at the ceiling and shook her head.

"This boy…" she mumbled, going about to do something in her kitchen.

"What do you want!" Ayra shouted back, the small kitchen ringing. Mrs. Hudson squirmed but continued working.

"I need you up here." He shouted back, as if his mouth was placed against the floor for clarity. Ayra rolled her eyes and continued eating, shaking her head.

"Fuck off, I'm eating." Ayra screamed. "Now that boy is lanky." Ayra shrugged, pointing up at the ceiling. "You should force-feed him."

"Oh, dear we have tried." Mrs. Hudson replied, her eyes wide.

"We?" Ayra asked, half of her plate already done. "You mean John or the psycho brother?"

"Mycroft? You met him already?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I know he can seem a little intense, much like his brother, but he has all the right intentions. After all their mother is such a sweetheart it really makes up for everything."

Ayra put down her fork and smiled, looking down at the table. "Is Sherlock a mama's boy?" Ayra asked, completely amused.

"Oh yes! Both the boys are very fond of their mother." Mrs. Hudson answered. Ayra squinted his eyes and giggled, trying to block her ugly snort.

"Wow he's just the cutest, isn't he?" She giggled, cleaning off the plate and taking it over to the sink to wash it.

"We are still talking about the Holmes boys, aren't we?" Mrs. Hudson asked, her expression filled with confusion. Ayra smiled and shook her head.

"Only Sherlock." Ayra said, placing her plate on the drying rack. "Does he have any girls or guys over… like not for a case?"

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked, arching her eyebrows. "Oh, no dear. Sherlock never has any social visits. Such a mysterious and strange boy…" Ayra looked down and began to bite her lip.

"Ayra!" the shout came again, making both Ayra and Mrs. Hudson to jump. Ayra pursed her lips and looked up, her eyebrows crooked in annoyance.

"I'm coming!" She screamed, waving goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and storming out.

Sherlock heard stomping footsteps run up, breaking his concentration of staring into the graffiti and looking at the door. Ayra peeked her head inside, an unusual bring smile on her face and her long hair laying casually around her waist. "Hey babe." She added with a wink.

Sherlock closed his eyes and gulped, fixing his collar. Why must she always do that? Straightening himself, he watched his strange neighbor open the door and enter, wearing a baggy graphic shirt and shorts. It almost looked as if she wasn't wearing any pants. Her thighs were slightly bigger but they were still very toned, from playing football most of her life. Then again, this was considered acceptable attire in California.

"Oh, how nice for you to finally show up." Sherlock murmured, taking a seat.

"I shouldn't have, after how much of a prick you were last night." Ayra commented, flipping her hair.

"Why aren't you still mad?" Sherlock asked, lacing his fingers together and putting them under his chin.

"Cuz I just ate and woke up from a wonderful night of sleep and my attitude is gone." Ayra chipped, crashing in John's chair.

Sherlock looked over her and the corners of his lip quirked up. "Is it the food or the joint you blazed up in your flat last night?"

"The food." Ayra replied, a smile on her face. "The weed here is absolute shit. What did you find?" she asked, her tone becoming serious. The corners of Sherlock's lips quirked up when he reached for his laptop and gave it to her. Ayra narrowed her eyes, her lips moving silently along as she read the article he found this morning. After she finished reading, she looked up and nodded.

"Ah, interesting. This is going somewhere" Ayra commented sarcastically. The door flew open and John entered, a pleasant smile on his face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and observed his flat mate, he seemed giddy – he met someone.

"Hey John, how was your interview?" Ayra asked, a bright greeting smile on her face.

"Oh great… she's great." John mumbled, making Ayra crook her eyebrows and smile at Sherlock.

"She?" Sherlock asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"It." John reiterated, looking at Ayra. "How you feelin' now then?"

"Considerably better, thanks." Ayra said, handing John the laptop. "You may want to see this."

John crooked his eyebrows,, reading with full concentration. "The intruder who can walk through walls…" John read.

"Happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat; doors locked, windows bolted from the inside – exactly the same as Van Coon."

John straightened up and looked at Sherlock, a questionable look on his face. "God, you don't think…"

"He's killed another one."

Sherlock climbed up the stairs after Ayra, making her look back and smile. "Are you checking me out Sherlock?" Sherlock froze and narrowed his eyes, his mind blank. He cleared his throat and looked down. Why did she have to ask questions he had no answer to? Sherlock was Mr. Punchline, as John said – he had the answer to everything.

"Checking what out?" Sherlock asked innocently, making her swirl around, her cheeks flushed and her mouth gaped open.

"Do you stay up at night and thinks of ways to insult people?" Ayra scoffed, jamming her apartment door open. "Or is it a natural talent and you have everything ready at the tip of your tongue?"

"I consider it to be a natural talent." Sherlock answered briskly, all too proud of himself to throw her off for a change. Ayra turned around and looked at him, her eyes scanning his frame from top to bottom. Sherlock knit his eyebrows and looked down, wondering if there was something wrong with him. With that, Ayra put on a mischievous smile, making his cheeks burn.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments." Ayra smirked, shoving by his side.

"What?" Sherlock asked, buttoning the single button on his suit.

"That purple shirt is divine." Ayra commented, making him take in a deep breath. "See, compliments are nice – try it on me now." Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, considering it for a moment. He didn't resort compliments for anyone, but as hard it was to admit… he had quite a few for Ayra.

For starters, he was very clever, and observant. That was something he hasn't seen… in anyone besides himself, and unfortunately Mycroft. Yet when it came to her appearance it was something else entirely. She was what most would consider beautiful – but beauty was a matter of childhood perceptions. Even so, she was beautiful.

"You aren't an idiot." Sherlock finally answered, blinking. Ayra smiled and closed her eyes, dramatically placing a hand on her heart.

"Ugh, I'm flattered." She chimed, reaching inside her closet. "Are you going to stand there and watch me undress?"

"I don't think you'll have a problem with that." Sherlock answered quickly. Ayra turned around and chuckled, shaking her head. "Seeing you are already so unusually comfortable with partial nudity."

"My my, you're becoming bold." Ayra sang, pulling her hair back. "No, but seriously, what is it?"

"You have a Federal hold on your name." Sherlock said, clasping his hands behind his back. The smile of Ayra's face disappeared, overcome by a dark shadow. She dropped her cloths and looked up at Sherlock, her eyebrows knit together.

"I can assure you I am no criminal." Ayra murmured, picking up the clothes from the floor and heading towards the bathroom.

"I didn't say you were." Sherlock answered back, quickly walking over to the door and blocking her entry. She stopped abruptly and looked up, her mismatched eyes dilated. She parted her lips to say something, but stopped short and turned her lips into a frown, looking down on the floor.

"Think of it this way, if there was something seriously off about me, Mycroft, being the over-protective brother he is, wouldn't let me live above you." Ayra said, placing her hand on Sherlock's chest and gently moving him away.

"Obviously, Mycroft knows." Sherlock murmured, looking back.

"Sherlock, think of this as a puzzle. And I'm not going to help you solve it." Ayra murmured, shaking her head. "I know you'll figure it out soon enough. Until then-"

"Whatever it is, it better not be dull." Sherlock commented, a little sharply than he intended. "It really would be a shame if you were waste of my time." Ayra closed her closer door and spun around, a bright smile on her face. Her strange eyes gleamed against the pale sunlight, making her look more mischievous.

"So you're admitting it?" She smiled. "You've taken a special interest in me." Sherlock crooked his brows, his icy blue eyes darting rapidly. He couldn't quite understand her behavior. What was she doing, scrabbling his mind trying to be nice to him?

"Don't flatter yourself." Sherlock replied, making her smile even more. He tilted his head, observing her. "Lectures are pointless; we are going to Scotland Yard-"

"Yeah… no." Ayra answered, shutting the bathroom door on his face. Sherlock stood outside the door with a baffled expression on his face. He did admit he enjoyed putting the rouse on people, but she was putting the rouse on _him_. He didn't completely understand it. Any women who would attempt to flirt with him usually ended up in tears. Sherlock was very good at shooting people's spirits down.

But why couldn't he bring down hers?

* * *

 **"Magi" means cheap whore in Bengali**


	5. Chapter 5

Ayra squeezed her eyes shut and looked out the window, the blue sky hidden somewhere behind dense gray clouds. She took a deep breath and diverted her attention back to the lecture, looking at the professor intently. She didn't need to listen to this lecture, not really. Whatever she heard or saw in her lifetime, she remembers. That was the painful curse she had to live with, a photographic memory. Ironically, this lecture was coming from a man who has never stepped a foot outside his lecture hall.

She rubbed her face and checked her phone once again. She still had fifteen minutes left of class, then she could finally be home. Although she wasn't looking forward to Sherlock once again prying her about her business, she was hoping he would be too distracted with his current case to focus on her.

"Why doesn't this lecture end already?" Someone mumbled next to her, making her look up. How distracted must she have been to not notice him? Ayra blinked and smiled, trying not to be giddy. Boy was the guy handsome, with his rare tan, copper blonde hair and the greenest eyes she has ever seen.

"I know…" Ayra managed to say, trying to think of what to say next. "It's like a fucking limbo in here."

"Limbo from _Inception_?" the guy asked. Ayra squeezed her eyes and nodded, smiling. She was always using movie or book references, and it infuriated her when no one got her references, like Sherlock. He was like a caveman.

"One of my favorite movies of all time." Ayra mumbled. "Like all Christopher Nolan movies, really."

"Which part, the plot of DiCaprio?" he smirked, making her stomach jump.

"Tom Hardy, and obviously, the plot." Ayra answered, smiling. "I'm Ayra Chowdhury." She said, extending out her hand.

"Sam Watts." He replied, taking her hand and giving it a firm squeeze. "And I'm _guessing_ … you're American, wait, I can do this… California?"

"I know we have a very distinct, annoying accent." Ayra shrugged. "And lemme guess, Wales?"

"Spot on." Sam smiled, and he had dimples, just like her. "We too have a very distinct, annoying accent." Ayra closed her eyes, giving her giddy, high pitch laugh and immediately regretting it and widening her eyes.

"Sorry, I don't know what that was." Ayra replied stiffly, imagining this prince Charming to gather his things and run. She would have done that if she were a guy – she would have been a complete dick if she were a guy. Surprisingly, he remained put and gave one of his smiles, running a shiver down her spine.

"I thought it was endearing." He said, making Ayra take a breath of relief. "Oh, look at that… this thousand quid lecture is over." He said looking at Ayra's phone. Looking around, Ayra quickly took his phone and tapped in her number, saving it as the "hyena laugh girl."

"Oh, look at that, my phone number." Ayra said, smiling. "Don't be afraid to call it." Ayra said, gathering her stuff and hauling her ass. Maybe her overconfidence will make him run for sure. It usually never did, but she has quite lost her game since she decided she isn't going to chase after trash men. After all, trash men were the only one's she ever been with and they fall for anything just to get the bone. Running out the class, she looked behind her and picked up her phone, dialing Em's number.

"I am thinking of having sex with a potential fuckboy again." Ayra said. "10/10 has a girlfriend, has the real 'my daddy will sue' vibe and looks like an Instagram model. I will definitely cry in the bathroom with self-loathing after I'm done with him."

Em released a long sigh "You really need to reevaluate your life." Em replied. "Women who attract lying, cheating, manipulative assholes like you don't usually know it-"

"False." Ayra corrected, running through the tube station and jumping in just before the door closed. "Every women who always complain about the men in their life do so willingly, they are just too much of a pussy to admit it. I'm in the tube the line will be disconnected soon-" Ayra said before hanging up.

Ayra closed her eyes and began to daydream the new man in her life. Ayra wouldn't consider herself a bold person, but she had certainly experimented with sex. Whether it was having sex with a woman or to be a unicorn in a married couples relationship… she had done it.

At the end of the day, she discovered she preferred the comfort and solace of someone familiar, and tolerable. Someone who understood her body, and understood her needs – someone who wasn't constantly lying to her. Someone she trusted, to some extent.

Unfortunately for her, the trust part had a very slim chance of becoming reality.

She was lost in her thoughts when she found herself in front of the familiar fading green door to her apartment, with the rustic gold letter "221B" embellished on them. She practically skipped up the stairs, opening the door to Sherlock's apartment. Ayra listens to the pin drop silence, making her frown. She checked the phone, hoping Sherlock would have left her a message as to where they were. "Mrs. Hudson!" Ayra shouted down the stairs, hopping down.

"Yes dear?" she replied back, her hands covered with a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

"Where are the boys?" Ayra asked.

"Those two are always dashing about." Mrs. Hudson murmured. "Why don't you call one of them and ask?"

Ayra frowned and picked up her phone, choosing to call John. "Yo where you at?"

"Ayra?" John asked, his voice rigid. "I really can't speak right now."

"What's wrong?" Ayra asked, watching the front door open as Sherlock walked in and ran straight upstairs, not even acknowledging her. Ayra frowned, upturning her lips and began to chew the inside of her mouth nervously.

"Nothing, just as the police station." John murmured, his voice becoming tighter. "I'll explain everything when I get back." With that John hung up the phone. She creased her eyebrows and looked at Mrs. Hudson.

"Well that was rude." Ayra mumbled, peeking upstairs.

"Perhaps the boys had a little domestic again." Mrs. Hudson waived her hand and opened the door to her apartment, inviting Ayra inside. "Always fighting like an old married couple. I really think they should get married you know; I think it's time for Sherlock to settle."

Ayra widened her eyes and smiled, shaking her head. "They aren't a couple, Mrs. Hudson."

"Really?" Mrs. Hudson widened her eyes and tilted her head back, a genuine look of surprise on her face. "They ought to be gay."

"John definitely isn't gay." Ayra laughed, dropping her bag on the floor. "Trust me."

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "I've never seen him with a woman before."

"Ah! I don't know about that one." Ayra mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "I really don't understand him."

"He's Sherlock honey." Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, reaching for her bottom drawer. "He doesn't even know himself – my back has been killing me recently." She moaned, holding her back and pulling out something. Ayra leaned over Mrs. Hudson curiously as she watched Mrs. Hudson pulled out a hefty plastic bag, filled with marijuana.

"Mrs. Hudson?" Ayra asked, her eyes on the weed the entire time. "That's a rather impressive stash. Enough to put you behind bars for a year here, I believe."

"Please this isn't recreational." Mrs. Hudson shook her head, spreading it thinly on the rolling paper. "It's herbal soothers for my hip."

"Can I please have some too?" Ayra asked desperately, perhaps a little too desperately. "It's just… big boobs, bad back." She said, pulling on her bra straps.

"Oh, yes… everyone loves them now, but with age, they will become a curse." Mrs. Hudson said. "Can't imagine, I mean you must be in pain all the time. Here take as many as you like – this works like magic."

Ayra smiled and reached for three bundles, wrapping them in a paper towel. "Oh, I'm aware." She said, waiving Mrs. Hudson bye and running up the stairs. She stopped short before Sherlock's apartment, peeking through the half-creaked door. His gaze was fixated on the mirror ahead of him, or what used to be a mirror once upon a time. Now it was filled with paper trails for his case, his pale eyes slowly trailing across each one.

Ayra stepped in slowly, but he didn't turn back. She has lived here long enough to know he will blank out for hours on end, and won't even notice you are right in front of his face. It would upset her in the beginning, but now she realized, it was just the way he was.

Without saying a word, Ayra took a seat in Sherlock's chair and crossed her legs, reaching for the paper towel and roll paper. She could see the corner of his eyes wrinkle as he shifted his gaze momentarily on her, making her smile. "You aren't in your 'Mind Palace'… you're just ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you." He responded immediately, his lips pressed tightly.

"You are ignoring me!" she exclaimed, standing up. "You never respond when you're having, well, one of your moments."

"I'm busy." He said, curling his long fingers together and placing his over his mouth, his messy eyebrows crooked.

"You're upset." Ayra noticed, stepping closer to him and looking up. "Did you have a fight with John?"

"No." he snapped, not gauging any reaction from her.

"But you are upset." Ayra persisted, rolling Mary Jane in between her thumbs and forefingers.

"I don't get upset." Sherlock almost spat, making her smile.

"You are such a child! You are throwing a tantrum right now." Ayra exclaimed, falling back on his seat. "Denying it is not going to make it any less true."

"I don't appreciate drugs in my flat." Sherlock said, waiving his hand. Ayra wrinkled her nose and let out a dry laughter, her head falling back.

"I found cocaine in the kitchen." Ayra said. "And your safety-net heroin in the bedroom."

"Yes, where is it?" Sherlock asked, finally facing her. "It has been missing for two days."

"Kept it for safekeeping." Ayra mumbled, shrugging her shoulders and licking the end of the rolling paper to seal her joint tightly. "Just the coke though. Heroin is something I have never been remotely been interested in." she looked up at him, watching him scowl. "You know, party drugs only."

"I'm clean." Sherlock snapped, pointing to the door. Ayra looked up and creased her eyebrows, her expression filling with annoyance. He was anything but clean.

"Please as soon as you get 'bored', you go on a deep bender." Ayra replied calmly, focusing on her joint. "While you haven't used in months… you and I both know it's a matter of time."

"Did Mycroft put you up to this?" Sherlock asked sharply. "Those narcotics are needed for my experiments!"

"Oh… right… and you're the test subject." Ayra breathed out sarcastically. "Now can you be a dear and fetch me a lighter. I promise I'll give you some." She murmured, with the joint placed between her peachy lips.

"You really haven't used the cocaine yet." Sherlock observed, making Ayra's eye dart up and stare at him blankly. "You're really trying to become sober."

Ayra crooked her eyebrows and got off Sherlock's chair and began rummaging through his kitchen. She pulled open a drawer and found the lighter, taking the tip of the dim fire and lighting the rolling paper. "The fuck you on about- I am sober."

"Is that what you tell yourself every day in the mirror after you down a bottle of wine." Sherlock commented, making Ayra roll her eyes in defiance.

"Shit Holmes, you need to up your stalking game because I only had one glass of wine last night." Ayra said, a smug smile on her face. "I drink because it's become a habit yes. But unlike most people I don't need a group of helpless twats telling me their sob stories on how they can't stop; thing is they can." Ayra said, closing the drawers and cupboards she opened previously with force. "And see, I'm doing it on my own."

"Denial isn't the answer." Sherlock replied. "Your hands were shaking when you're rolling the joint."

"Your hypocrisy is as sheer as it gets." Ayra snapped back, though having a seemingly calm expression. Sherlock took a calculative risk, one last attempt to unnerve her. With a small, confident smile on his face, he came closer to her, making her look up with her, honestly, beautiful eyes.

"You blame your partying lifestyle for your drinking and, well, drug habits." Sherlock scoffed at the last part, making Ayra blink rapidly in confusion. "But you don't drink or get high to end up in some, loud, obnoxious music festival." Sherlock paused, taking one step closer to her, his warm breath hitting her face. "You do it to cope."

Ayra stepped back, momentarily looking baffled. She scoffed and gave a small laugh, blowing smoke into Sherlock's face. "Coping from what?" She asked, her eyes unnervingly still.

Sherlock took a step back and walked towards his board, his back turned to her. "No worries. It's only a matter of time before I find out."

Ayra tucked her full lips in rage, her cheeks burning red. "Well until then… I guess I'm ahead in this little game." Taking a deep breath through her nostrils, she turned around and marched off, shutting the door forcefully behind her.

* * *

Sherlock had already sent off John to the police station to get the journalists diary. Before he wanted to make his way to the bank, he briskly walked upstairs, opening the door. Ayra was lying with her legs up on the rest and her head hanging down on the floor watching TV. Her long hair lay like lost silk, sprawled across the floor. Sherlock frowned his lips and walked upto her, tilting his head to meet her mismatched eyes.

"Oh look… it's the apple of my eye who is constantly concerned of me." She commented, her voice seemingly bored. "What do you want?"

"Can you function." Sherlock asked, seeing her eyes were blood red. Ayra rolled her eyes and straightened up, her face gushing red from being upside down.

"Well, suddenly my back aches went away." Ayra shrugged, shoving Sherlock away to change the channel. "But I feel as lucid as a clear, sunny day."

"You don't have a back problem" Sherlock murmured, making her look up with annoyance. "Not yet at least."

"Try carrying around double-d's for the rest of your life." Ayra murmured, rubbing her face violently.

"I put the cocaine in the kitchen counter." Sherlock finally admitted, making Ayra look up and flutter her lashes. "Your left thumb constantly quivers. You were going through withdrawal but from nothing major, I guessed you just needed something like marijuana… but I wanted to test cocaine and you took it even though you've only done it a few times."

"More than a few times." Ayra shrugged, taking in a deep breath. "And it's not very nice to hand me the forbidden fruit, Adam. I don't want to be dragged to Earth."

"You not using only reaffirmed the fact that you aren't particularly an addict, but you are a raging alcoholic. Yet when you do use, and drink… but you do so as a coping mechanism. You drink 32% more when you're reminded of a past event, or trauma. But unfortunately for you – you remember even speckle of detail from whatever it is that happened to you." Sherlock said, watching Ayra look up at him blankly. "I haven't met many other's with photographic memory."

"Raging isn't the right word." Ayra said, sniffing sharply. "You don't find me passed out in the middle of a working day, now do you."

"You hand shakes from lack of alcohol in your system." . Sherlock narrowed his eyes, watching her crook her eyebrows in annoyance. "I would say that is an alcoholic characteristic."

"Potato-e po-ta-to." Ayra mumbled grumpily, narrowing her eyes. "Ya know I'm going to get my revenge on you for trying to give me cocaine."

"It was an experiment!" Sherlock shouted, slamming his fist. How many times did a person need an apology? It isn't like he pressured her into taking it, and it's not even like she's hasn't done cocaine before.

"I'm not a Jane Doe corpse!" Ayra snapped, tightening her arms around her chest.

"You conduct social experiments all the time." Sherlock answered. "With all your forward and bold comments."

"It's called flirting, 210 IQ." Ayra exclaimed, shoving him. "For a genius, you are seriously thick."

Sherlock froze in place, his fists balled tightly. He wasn't quite sure how he would respond. "Um… people don't flirt with me."

"Maybe you have and you just didn't know it." Ayra mumbled, her back turned out the window. "Or maybe you probably say just something dickish which completely puts them off – yeah that seems more plausible."

"Simply sparing them the pain of useless romance." Sherlock murmured, crossing his arms and looking out his window. The rest of the cab ride was silent, as both looked out their windows. From the corner of his eye, Sherlock noticed Ayra's still looking out the window, her arms bound tightly around her chest and her eyebrows creased. Sherlock looked away and slid out of the cab, having Ayra follow him shortly afterwards. "You know, I was having a considerably good day until you ruined it."

"Yes, you've met a man." Sherlock answered bitterly, making a sour expression. "You don't seem all that excited about it."

"Yeah I'm probably gonna want to kill him at some point. I mean he's cheating on his girlfriend constantly. Ayra mumbled, pulling at her coat. "A cheater is my kryptonite."

"Good lord, your problems just keep piling on, don't they?" Sherlock answered coldly, watching her frown. He had to admit, making her angry was entertaining him, and her "angry expressions" were anything but intimidating. It was strangely, almost endearing. "You're a delightful character with astute 'daddy issues'… so very interesting indeed." Sherlock taunted. "I don't think you're going to sleep with him, no matter how convinced you are of failing on your moralities."

"Oh, and this coming from "I don't know flirting?" Ayra shrieked.

"I don't flirt, but I do know this." Sherlock said, grabbing her by her upper arm and pulling her close. He narrowed his eyes down on her, watching her pupils slowly dilate and her breathing become heavier. "You would much rather have sex with me."

Ayra gaped her mouth in shock, completely taken aback. She choked on her words and jerked her hand away from him, shaking her head. "You're delusional." She finally said, her voice raspy.

"You're aroused right now." Sherlock pointed out, making her turn around, her eyes smoldering.

"Yes Mr. Genius Detective, I am standing in the middle of Shad Sanderson bank, dripping wet for you right now." Ayra mumbled humorlessly, turning back swiftly and walking towards Van Coon's assistant's table.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes. I have everything here ready for you as you asked." Amanda said, pointing at a table display of multiple receipts and ticket stubs from Van Coon the day before he died. Sherlock moved closer to the receipts, observing them closely.

"So Amanda, what kind of a boss was he?" Ayra asked, crossing her arms. "Appreciative?"

"Um, no. That's not the word I'd use." Amanda answered, somewhat timidly. "The only thing Eddie appreciated had a big price tag on it."

"Like that hand cream?" Ayra asked, pointing at the bottle on her table. Sherlock froze and looked at the bottle closely, a small smile on his face. How did he miss that? "Eddie gifted you that, didn't he?"

Amanda looked up at Ayra in surprise and began to fiddle nervously with her hairpin, biting her lips. Sherlock went ahead and picked up a receipt from a cab. It was dated 22 March and timed 10:35; the receipt is for 18.50 pounds.

"Look at this." Sherlock said, showing the receipt to Ayra. "Got a taxi from home the day he died. Eighteen pounds fifty."

"That would get him to the office." Amanda pointed out.

"No, not during rush hour." Sherlock said, tapping on the time. "This would get him as far as…"

"The West End." Amanda chipped in again. "I remember him saying that." Sherlock pulled out another receipt, this time a ticket stub, and handing it to Amanda.

"Underground. Printed at one in Piccadilly." Sherlock said.

"So he got a tube back in the office?" Amanda asked, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why would he get a taxi into town, and then a tube back in the office?"

"Because he was carrying something he didn't want to walk to the subway station." Ayra commented absently. Sherlock nodded his head and smiled.

"Yes, he was making a delivery." Sherlock murmured, shuffling through the rest of the receipts.

"Delivery?" Amanda asked, looking at Ayra.

"To somewhere near Piccadilly station." Sherlock said, looking at another receipt. "Dropped the package, delivered it and then… stopped on his way. He got peckish."

"He stopped for pizza." Ayra said, looking over his shoulder. "This reminds me, I haven't eaten anything."

"Think we are done here." Sherlock said, turning around.

"Thank you for this Amanda." Ayra said, leaning closer. "And I'm sorry." Ayra said, walking away awkwardly and looking behind her shoulder. "La Mer hand cream – that costs over $200 for less than five ounces of product."

"Yes, quite the amount to spend on hand cream for his assistant." Sherlock noted.

"He had used La Mer products in his apartment too, made for women specifically." Ayra mumbled. "She was the one he was nailing."

"Quite evidently so." Sherlock said, pinching his nose together. He climbed down on her escalator, not looking behind him. "It was good… you taking notice of the hand cream."

"Why, you didn't see?" Ayra asked, widening her eyes. "Kind of obvious."

"Yes, it was." Sherlock gritted from his teeth, wondering why he didn't see it first. He chewed on the corner of his lips, his eyes shifting behind him. Ayra looked down at the floor and smiled slyly, biting on her full lower lip. "Oh don't gloat. Just because you noticed something before me."

Ayra snorted, shaking her head with a wonderful laughter. "You remind me of this guy who went to my school, and nearly pissed himself when I was elected class president even though I didn't even run. Oh, what a sad, sack of shit."

"You are no longer angry?" Sherlock asked, looking behind him.

"Oh no, I still want to punch you… in your… perfect… cheekbones." Ayra mumbled, shoving past him and walking forward. "But I won't because I'll hurt myself." Ayra replied, added with a wink. Sherlock pursed his lips and smiled, not really knowing why.


	6. Chapter 6

Ayra sniffed the tantalizing air lingering with the smell of fresh baked pizza when she walked out of the pizza parlor Van Coon had his last meal in. Looking back, she frowned, her stomach beginning to rumble. Today was one bumpy day – and being so eventful she forgot the most important thing she had to do. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and looked at Sherlock, who was talking to himself and spinning around in circles.

The corner of her lips quirked into a gentle smile as she rolled her eyes, looking down at the time. "Fuck…" she mumbled to herself, noting she only had fifteen minutes to go to the shelter. "Sherlock I need to go-"

"Where did he go?" he repeated to himself again, his eyes shut and his fingers pressed at his template. Chewing on her lip, Ayra looked around the street and began to think. They were dropping off packages they smuggled in from China… and China Town was right across the street. Taking a deep breath, she pursed her lip.

"Perhaps he went to an antique store- they seem to be logical buyers…" she whispered to herself quietly, narrowing her eyes at a shop across the street. "Sherlock…"

"It could literally be anywhere!" Sherlock exclaimed, making Ayra pinch him hard on the arm to get his attention. Sherlock winced and looked down at her, his bushy eyebrows creased.

"Do I have your attention now?" Ayra asked, getting nothing but a vexed exhale from him as a reply. "Okay, perhaps it's that fucking antique store across the street. Just an idea… now I have to go." Ayra said as Sherlock pulled on her scarf and dragged her closer.

"What? How did you know?" He asked, looking down.

"I'm 'deducing'" Ayra teased, adding a wink to throw Sherlock off his game. "In all seriousness, it would make sense… now bye."

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked again, tightly gripping onto her scarf. She looked down and smirked, arching her eyebrows.

"I could just take the scarf off and leave, you know." Ayra giggled. "Anyways, I have a very, very important appointment."

Sherlock upturned his lips and narrowed his eyes, bring himself closer down. "What could be more important than this?" he asked innocently, making Ayra snort.

"I don't know… let me see…" Ayra began when Sherlock spoke again.

"It's not a date – he hasn't called nor texted you yet." Sherlock observed. Ayra took a deep breath and frowned; she completely forgot the guy she met this morning is MIA. While she did think she wasn't ready to date yet, she was very, very wrong. She had all this sexual tension built up, and there was no way to release it. And it has been, such a long time…

"Yeah, thanks for bring that up." Ayra murmured dryly, slapping his hands off her scarf. "I would love to play the guessing game with you, but I simply don't have the time." Ayra blew him a kiss and ran to the corner of the sidewalk to hail a taxi.

"Ayra!" she heard John's voice behind her, making her look back. "I thought-"

"Yeah I totally forgot." Ayra shouted back and slid into the black cab. "I'll see you later John!" she replied giddily as the car took off into the bustling streets of London.

"Where did she go John?" Sherlock asked his roommate, who gave him a confused look and clutched onto a black leather-bound notebook.

"Um, well… she went to the animal shelter to adopt a puppy-" John started when Sherlock threw his fist in the air, muttering something.

"Dogs… obviously." He scoffed, finally diverting his attention back to John. "What did you find?"

"Lukis diary- he recorded an address of that shop over there." John pointed to the exact same shop Ayra suggested. Sherlock huffed out air and pursed his lips, not realizing why he wasn't the one to catch that first. Ruffling through his hair, he began to walk down the street, hoping to find some answered at the "Lucky Cat".

Ayra walked through the shelter and admired every single dog she passed by, her hands itching to pet them all. Taking a deep breath, she walked down behind the animal social worker. "So, Ms. Chowdhury. You sounded awfully excited to meet your new best friend?"

Ayra snapped back to reality and smiled. "Of course. Foreign country… foreign place… a dog is the only constant I know" Ayra mentioned. "I already called in about the puppy I saw."

"Yes, you actually narrowed down two puppies." the woman said., making Ayra nod in return. "One female golden retriever and one female Alaskan malamute."

"Um, yes, I've actually made my mind about that." Ayra said. "Trust me it wasn't easy, because I want to adopt everything in this shelter… but I've decided to go with the malamute. You know, since I have one back home."

"Of course then you must know Alaskan Malamutes are very, very large breeds." The lady said, stopping momentarily to wait for Ayra. "Most people get frightened by their full size, as many people mistaken them for huskies."

"Oh, believe me, I know." Ayra said, rubbing her hands together to keep herself warm. She looked around the shelter, her skin prickling from the chilly atmosphere. "When I walk my boy everyone thinks I'm walking a wolf."

"Sounds like quite a handful." The woman smiled kindly.

"The handful I don't mind at all." Ayra muttered, wishing she would just show her the puppy already. The lady turned the door knob and opened the door to heaven, when one little puppy began running around the room, playing with a small chew toy. Ayra placed her hand over her mouth, feeling tears prickle the corner of her eyes.

"Oh my…" she whispered, sniffing. "She is beautiful…" she said, kneeling and picking up the soft, fluffy brown cloud in her arms. "Hi baby… it's mommy." Ayra cried, kissing the puppy on the top of her head. She was still small enough for Ayra to carry around all day – and she was certainly going to do that. The malamute had light brown fur, with patches of white here and there. And she looked up at Ayra with the most delectable pair of warm, brown eyes.

"She has already received her first set of shots, but you will need to come back according to the schedule to have her series finished." The woman informed, watching Ayra not pay attention and continue to play with her dogs. "Do you have a name selected for the girl?"

"I do… This beauty right here is Ruth Bader Ginsburg." Ayra said, repeatedly kissing her new puppy and making her want to squirm away from her.

"Well, isn't that a mouthful." The lady said unenthusiastically, but Ayra could care less. "We have your paperwork; you can sign them whenever you are ready and we will get the girl set up for you." Ayra nodded and waited for the judgmental social worker to leave until she truly began to cry.

"Ruthie, you are about to become a highly trained, spoiled brat." Ayra said, wiping her eyes. "But you will love me nonetheless- so let's go home."

* * *

Ayra dropped her eyes, watching her new sleeping puppy. She picked her up with ease, trying not to disturb her sleep and cradeled her, feeling the furry pets natural warmth. Mrs. Hudson played with her paws, smiling. "Something wrong honey."

"When did they come in last night?" Ayra mumbled, rubbing her tired eyes.

"Very late I imagine." Mrs. Hudson informed. "But they often do that. I recon it's because they need some time alone."

Ayra closed her eyes and smiled. "Mrs. Hudson, John is a vagina man." Ayra said. "And, well, I don't know about Sherlock, but I think he likes the attention he gets from being attractive…"

"But is something else bothering you dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked once again, making Ayra chew on her lip.

"Oh not really." Ayra said, narrowing her eyes. "Well, it's… you know… I haven't been on a proper date in like, a year." Ayra added. "And I completely miscalculated my allure since he hasn't called nor texted me to make plans."

"Oh dear, you were really looking forward to meeting with him, weren't you?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Ayra crooked her eyebrows, considering the question for a moment. "No, not really." Ayra replied blankly. "I know he is a serial adulterer, and has a long-term girlfriend back home in Wales – but… I just loved the attention-"

"Dear… you're like any other girl your age-" Mrs. Hudson giggled. "That's nothing to be ashamed of-"

"Oh… I'm not ashamed." Ayra rolled her eyes. "I've done some despicable things a few years back."

"I was an exotic dancer in Florida." Mrs. Hudson whispered, adding a wink.

"I was a sugar baby, even though I really didn't need the money." Ayra shook her head, whispering to herself "I was also a unicorn for the hot couple two streets down who had a thing for me ever since I hit puberty… I slept with multiple married men and women because the 'thrill' of getting caught and having their asses beat excited me… what else-"

"Dear-" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, with a nervous laughter. "Guess your rebellious age really was, thorough."

"Yeah, thorough isn't the word though. It's self-destructive." Ayra murmured. "Anyways, that phase only lasted three years until I fell in love-" she stopped, crunching her brows.

"And it didn't end well?" the older lady asked, softly placing her hand on Ayra's shoulder.

"Of course not." Ayra replied softly, the frown in her face growing deeper. "But it did sort me straight though, and I realized I wanted a conventional love story… and the men I used to go for would never give me that."

Mrs. Hudson smiled, shaking her head. "You remind me a lot of myself, you know." She giggled. "I was, eccentric too… but all I wanted at the end was happily ever after."

Ayra looked up, the frown still on her pretty face. "Didn't you hire Sherlock to ensure you husband got the chair?" she asked.

Mrs. Hudson slid back, placing her hand on her knees for support. "And here I am, living my happily ever after." She groaned, getting up from the rustic stained chair. "My happily ever after never involved a man… everyone's definition is different, you know."

Ayra looked down and smiled, her dimples spreading on her cheek. "Amen sister!" she shouted with a tune. "All you really need is a vibrator. Ayra continued when the sound of the front door opening interrupted her. "Give me the babies." Ayra said, taking a hold of Ruthie from Mrs. Hudson and walking out the door.

"You got one?" John exclaimed, looking at the puppy with awe. He rubbed his blood red eyes and yawned.

"Of course, I need a dog with me at all times for emotional stability." Ayra scoffed, rolling her eyes. Ayra looked up the stairs and Sherlock was already gone to his apartment. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Nope, none." John shook his head, pushing his hair back with his fingers. "We were chasing the origins of the ciphers all night. And I came across a whole new set of numbers on a wall, which was later wiped out when I came back with Sherlock. Luckily I got a picture."

"Ayra!" a shout came from upstairs, making her puppy squirm.

"What?" Ayra shouted, storming upstairs. She pushed open the door using her back and turned to Sherlock, who once again stood in front of his wall, looking at a new set of codes. Ayra walked straight to the new photos and observed them carefully, pursing her lips.

"John said it was wiped out immediately after he left." Ayra said, but got no response from Sherlock. "The codes are in two… but this whole thing looks like a sentence."

"Yes, he is trying to communicate with his people underground – whatever was stolen, he wants it back." Sherlock said behind her. "Two?"

"Yes, two." Ayra said, turning around to see his face. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked at the dog tucked in Ayra's arms, his expression soft. Ayra pursed her lips and squealed, coming closer to Sherlock.

"You like dogs!" Ayra exclaimed, making Sherlock finally look at her.

"Well… yes." Sherlock answered awkwardly. "Far better than humans." Sherlock shrugged and turned away.

"No one is going to judge you if you pet her, you know." Ayra smiled, giving the dog to Sherlock. "In fact, people are going to judge you if you don't." Sherlock looked at the furry puppy handed over to him with surprise, and pursed his lips. He looked up from the corner of his eyes and scratched both of their heads, a real smile on her face.

"This doesn't mean you aren't an idiot." Sherlock murmured, making Ayra smile.

"You're so pretty…" Ayra mumbled dreamily. "You should actually smile more often." Sherlock's smile immediately wiped off his face as he handed her the dogs and left for the door, stopping there.

"Mrs. Hudson can take care of them." Sherlock said whilst putting his coat on. "We need to see Soo Lin Yao."

"Who's that?" Ayra asked putting down the dog as she began to run around.

"Oh, you missed that whole part." Sherlock told himself as she wrapped the rough blue scarf around his neck. "We need to go to the National Antiquities Museum."

Ayra stood up and pulled her jeans above her hips, properly adjusting it. "Fine, then let's go." She said, yawning. "Mrs. Hudson! I'm leaving Ruthy with you for a while!"

"Okay dear." She shouted from downstairs.

"Let's give John sometime to rest." Ayra said, pushing Sherlock out the door. "You didn't let him sleep at all last night."

"Who needs sleep when there's something so delightfully interesting going on?" Sherlock asked enthusiastically, making Ayra widened her eyes.

"Not everyone is a high-functioning sociopath with an unnatural craving for destruction, you know" Ayra said. She turned around and scooted closer to Sherlock, feeling him becoming stiff by her close contact. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Digestion slows me down." Sherlock murmured, looking out the cab window.

"After we meet this Soo Lin, I'm taking you to eat a proper meal." Ayra said.

"Can't, it stops my thinking process." Sherlock said, starting to relax slightly. Ayra smiled and chewed on her bottom lip.

"What else makes your thinking process stop?" Ayra asked flirtatiously, making him stiffen all over again. Sherlock frowned his lips and looked down on the mismatched eyes, wide and sparkling.

"Yes, sex is one of them." Sherlock smirked, making Ayra scoffed. "But I do need it constantly once I've solved a case."

Ayra smiled and tucked her lips in, her dimples denting her cheeks. "Are you asking me to have sex with you after this case is over?"

"I know you aren't going to say no." Sherlock replied back, his expression completely blank. Ayra slid away from him and widened her eyes, breathing out a puff of air.

"Well played." Ayra mumbled, narrowing her eyes. "You're flirting. Makes you almost seem like a functioning member of this delightful society."

"And I was under the impression that isn't your type." Sherlock shot back. Ayra looked up, an annoyed look fixated on her face.

"You heard me and Mrs. Hudson talking?" Ayra commented. "Sherlock, A, you shouldn't eavesdrop, B… you go around thinking I'm a slut-"

"Please, I am not one who will go around and judge other people's sexual appetite." Sherlock said, opening the door to the cab ajar and jumping out. "On the contrary, I think yours is rather plain."

Ayra stopped short and looked up, blinking her mismatched eyes rapid. "What- plain?!" she squealed in disbelief. "Fuck you, I am not plain-" she screamed after him, making pedestrian's nearby look at her bewildered. "Sorry if cuffing someone's nut sack to the radiator doesn't sexually thrill me" she continued, but Sherlock completely ignored her, walking ahead with his back to her.

Ayra tried to ignore Sherlock in front of her and began to look around at the various antiquities on display. The museum had a small collection, but whatever they had was unique and rare. Ayra personally always loved coming to museums, trying to figure out the history behind each piece put on display. Even though most pieces were filled with some form of painful or war-torn stories, museums and art galleries always brought her peace.

Sherlock stopped when Ayra crashed into him, not seeing where she was going.

"Mr. Holmes." Someone said, making Ayra look over his shoulder.

"Hello Andy." Sherlock acknowledged, looking around. "Two men who travelled back from China were murdered, and their killer left them a message in Hangzhou numerals. I believe Soon Lin Yao is in danger. And those numerals that were left for her are the same ones left for the victims."

"Look, I've tried everywhere; um friends, colleagues. I don't know where she's gone." The guy named Andy said desperately. "I mean, she could be a thousand miles away." Sherlock turned his back and fixed his attention on a display of ancient Chinese teapots, watching them closely.

"Tell me more about these teapots." Sherlock said, pointing at three clay pots displayed. Ayra watched the pots closely, noticing two looking completely brand new and shining, while the other one was dried down, almost decaying.

"Th-the pots were her obsession. They need urgent work- If they dry out, then the clay can start to crumble." Andy informed, standing beside Sherlock. "Apparently, you have to keep making tea in them."

Sherlock bends his back and begins to look more closely at the pots. "Yesterday only one of these pots were shining. Today there are two." Sherlock said, taking a hold of Ayra's hand and walking out.

"Yo!" Ayra shouted, trying to keep up with his long paces as he dragged her somewhere.

"Soo Lin Yao is still here." Sherlock said, taking her to a corner. "She is hiding in the museum."

"So, what… we just wait until she comes back at night to restore the third pot?" Ayra asked, pulling out her phone to check the time. "The museum closes at 8." Ayra said, biting her lip.

"I guess we will have to be back then." Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose. Ayra tilted her head and looked up, pouting her lips.

"You know, pretending to be a high-and-mighty sapio hedonistic intellectual isn't going to fool me. You're as much as a fuck boy as the next frat boy." Ayra answered slowly, her eyes frozen still. Sherlock look down at her and frown. People said her eyes were pretty, what about his? They were the palest blue he has ever seen… almost the same as her husky.

"That is genuinely insulting" Sherlock replied cynically, making a bitter face. "A psychopathic fraternity boy who is willing to have alcohol poisoning to join a cult? Please- I defer I am everything opposite of that."

Ayra smiled, watching him somewhat defeated. For work, she watched as people came to her mercy, all the time. That was nothing new to her – she always knew exactly what to say to people to crush their spirits. Being ordinary was Sherlock's biggest fear, and it was rather delightful.

"Let's have lunch." Ayra suggested, making Sherlock narrow his eyes even more.

"I'm not hungry." He replied quickly, not blinkng once.

"Fine, then you watch me eat." Ayra shrugged, grabbing a hold of his coat sleeve and dragging him out of the museum. "Oh, and you're paying." Sherlock strolled after her stiffly, but not really complaining – but then again, he knew he didn't really have much of a choice otherwise. Better Ayra than anyone else.

* * *

Done editing this bitch X


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched the relatively small girl eat her mammoth meal with ease, not even expressing any form of discomfort. He had his fingers resting under his chin, watching her closely. She didn't allow him to talk while she ate, because apparently, it distracted her eating ritual. He was left with no choice but to wonder – what happened to her. She was a victim of a substantial trauma, but she never expressed it.

Ayra looked up, chewing on her burger intently and narrowed her own eyes – the left eye was much browner while the right eye was very, very green, making her two different colored eyes pop from miles away, especially against her dark skin. Ayra took a deep breath and put her burger down and leaned closer. "You're thinking about what happened to me, aren't you?"I like to think of myself as a 17x17 Rubik's cube… quite impossible to solve."

"Yes. But not impossible"" Sherlock murmured. Ayra leaned back and shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, and I can assure you that you will get there… only because I will let you.I'll get over it eventually." Ayra mumbled, "Seems as though trouble and I are soul-mates." She whispered slowly, looking out the window. "I have been to all corners of the world, but London has always been in my Top city is far more beautiful than I imagined, you know." She said, her voice low. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and looked out the window. Yes, he has been to many places, but at the end there was no place like home- London.

"Were you raped?" Sherlock asked suddenly, making Ayra snap her head and frown. "No, wait, that wouldn't have a FBI hold, unless it was someone influential who did it-"

"No- I would break anyone's penis if they even had a fluttering thought about something like that-" Ayra snapped, tapping her fingers impatiently. She took her glass of soda and gulped it down, until the whole glass was empty. "It's a little more complex."It's so, so much more complicated, that I know for a fact you won't get it until it knocks on your doorstep."

"Like yourselfNo need to be so dramatic." Sherlock smiled, once again lacing his fingers under his chin. Ayra looked up and gave him a sly smile, her dimples appearing on her cheeks. He knew that she was subjected to sexual assault – that part was evidently clear from her reaction, perhaps when she was much younger…. bu But there was still something major he was missing.

"Yeah, I am quite the complicated bitch, aren't I?"My mama always said you gotta fight fire with fire." Ayra giggled, picking up the remainder of her burger and chewing on it. "I looked into your family- I mean I searched the name Holmes." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and his smile disappeared, making him scoff.

"Why?" Sherlock asked tightly, tapping his fingers.

"To understand why you are the way you are. So… shielded and terrified of humans hidden." Ayra said, wiping her fingers with a napkin which was neatly folded next to her. "I saw you, and I k- ssaw your older brother… man I thought you came from some seriously dysfunctional family."

"My family isn't dysfunctional." Sherlock replied. "Only Mycroft is."

"I know!" Ayra exclaimed enthusiastically. "Well, as far as the internet would provide anyways. You got your genius from your mother, a critically acclaimed mathematician."

"I'm aware of mummy's accomplishments." Sherlock murmured, making Ayra burst into laughter. He snapped his attention to her, completely baffled. "What?" he asked cautiously, narrowing his eyes.

"Mummy!" Ayra giggled, her laugh becoming so high pitch that it was beginning to hurt his eardrums. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and frowned. "You are such a babe." Ayra cried, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes from laughing too hard.

"What's wrong with that?" Sherlock asked defensively, making her purse her lips tightly to prevent from laughing once again.

"Nothing… you're just, such a cutie." Ayra said, making Sherlock roll his eyes and look out the window. His attention snapped outside when he saw Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan heading towards the entrance of the café, making him stiff. "What's wrong?" Ayra asked, noticing his change in body language.

"Why would anything be wrong?" Sherlock asked immediately, making Ayra widen her eyes and look behind his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade's voice came from behind him, making him take in a deep breath. Lestrade, he never minded Lestrade… but Anderson and Donovan were a completely different story. "What you doin' here?"

"Lestrade." Sherlock acknowledge, turning around to see a very confused and questioned looks on all three of their faces.

"Who's that then?" Donovan asked, watching Ayra closely. Ayra dropped her napkin on the table and crossed her arms defiantly, arching her eyebrows. Sherlock turned around and saw Ayra, knowing she was going to say something unpleasant.

"Sherlock! I can't believe you never told any of your coworkers about me!" Ayra gasped, making Sherlock frown. "Hi I'm Ayra, Sherlock's girlfriend." Ayra said, extending her hand out to greet them. All three of their jaws dropped at once, completely taken aback.

"What?" Lestrade asked, his gaze shifting from Ayra to Sherlock, then to Ayra again. Lestrade gulped and looked at Ayra closely, nervous at meeting her eye as he blushed. Sherlock rolled his eyes, annoyance taking him over once again. "You- your eyes are two different colors-" Lestrade commented nervously, his cheeks becoming darker.

"Yes, I do look at myself at the mirror constantly."that is something I've noticed before." Ayra smiled fluttering her eyelashes just to make the man more flustered.

, tilting her head and trying to gather her opinion on the other two.

"How's the missus Lestrade?" Sherlock snapped, making Lestrade snap back to reality and look at him for a change.

"Yeah… um… we are trying to patch things up." Lestrade answered, looking down at the floor.

"Really, her?" Sherlock murmured, knowing all too well his wife was still cheating on him, this time with the science tutor.

"But, you're hotfit." Anderson mumbled behind them, making Ayra scoff in disgust. Sherlock turned and narrowed his eyes at Anderson, ready to take him down at all his will when Ayra spoke up.

"Didn't your wife just have a fucking baby?" Ayra asked, making Sherlock turn around to Ayra again. How did she know about the baby? Turning back to Anderson, he noticed the blotched spots of baby formula and bags under his eyes. The child was no more than a few months old. Ayra crunched her nose and sniffed, another smile of disbelief forming on her face. "And you didn't… have a baby…"

"No, I didn't!" Donovan snarled, looking at her. "And how did you know he became a father?"

"Baby formula and sleepless nights." Ayra asked, looking down at her nails. "Pretty self-explanatory." She looked up sharply when she heard Donovan snort, making her tilt her head.

"Sherlock told you that, didn't he?" Donovan asked, making Ayra watch Donovan coldly, her eyes unwavering.

"Please, don't think he's wasting his time talking to me about _you_ guys." Ayra winked, making the two men very uncomfortable.

"There is baby formula on his shirt, which is still wrinkled meaning he is still wearing the same shirt he wore to work yesterday, and spilled baby formula on his left chest while he was having a fight with his wife… can't blame her – I would probably kill my cheating husband."

"Excuse me!" Donovan spat, only making her smile more look at Sherlock. He must admit, he was enjoying his thoroughly. It's as if he didn't even have to do anything. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Shea butter will help you knees." Ayra said, arching her eyebrows and motioning Sherlock to exit. "Will heal those scraps right up." Sherlock looked back and smiled proudly.

"What the actual fuck!" Donovan cried, shaking her head. "Can't believe there are two of you… _freaks_."

Ayra narrowed her eyes and looked at Donovan with the coldest set of eyes, almost frighteningly cold. Ayra's smile wiped off and morphed into pure anger, her nostrils flaring.

"What did you say?" Ayra chewed out, balling her fists tightly. "I'm getting heat from the leech who stole a newborn's father aaway from her? really?"

"I will-" Donovan stood straighter when Lestrade stopped her, his eyebrows frowning.

"Enough Donovan!" Lestrade snapped, making her back off. "I'm sorry for my sergeant's and forensic specialist's behavior." Lestrade said, looking back with burning eyes at Donovan and Anderson.

"But-" Donovan began to protest when Lestrade once again stopped her.

"She wasn't wrong, now was she?" Lestrade asked in a low voice, making take a step back. "Sherlock, I wasn't aware… you did… girlfriends."

"Well he does trust me." Ayra chimed in, pushing Sherlock aside. "He is quite the charmer. when he wants to have sex with you." Ayra winked, making Sherlock hook his arms on hers and pull her to his side.

"I think we are done here." Sherlock murmured, pulling her with force.

"It was nice meeting you Detective Inspector… and you two… adulterers." Ayra mumbled the last part. Sherlock used his free hand to open the door as he swung out, listening to Ayra laugh loudly. "Okay you can't deny that wasn't fun."

"Oh no, it was very entertaining to watch." Sherlock smirked, hailing a taxi. "And the whole act would have been believable if you didn't blow it at the end." Ayra frowned and yanked her arm away from him.

"What? That isn't believable?" Ayra scoffed. "What do you do when your seeking _courtship_?"

"I don't court." Sherlock added briskly, making Ayra look at him bewildered.

"Then what, you just take your pants off in front of a yellow-page whore of something?" Ayra asked, somewhat afraid of the answer. Ayra swiped a quick look over him, making her smile. "Yeah, if someone looked like you, I can see how that works."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slid inside the cab, telling him to go back to the museum. He held his breath, and he could _practically_ feel Ayra's brain tweaking, swirling with question, or perhaps another disturbing and uncomfortable comment. The long silence was heavy, almost making it hard for him to breathe – he did not like being this anxious and it was infuriating that Ayra would make him feel that way. He never knew what to expect from her.

"So that D.I. still thinking about getting back to his wife?" Ayra asked, making Sherlock turn around and meet her mischievous glint. Sherlock tilted his head and pursed his lips in question, waiting for her to explain further. "He's a real daddy-"

"Please don't." Sherlock pursed his lips and clenched his fists. "I did just have a _joyous luck_ of watching you devour a meal like a hyena going down on an antelope… I really don't wish to barf so don't push me over the edge-"

"Aww, you're jealous again." Ayra purred, making him roll his eyes more. "You know I got a special soft spot for you." Ayra began when her phone buzzed in her back pocket, making her squirm and pull the phone out clumsily. She slid her back against the rest as Sherlock saw her read the text – from her eyes growing wide in surprise, into the widest smile… followed by blank, nervous wide eyes.

"Day after tomorrow…" she mumbled to herself, scratching her head. "I-yes…" she whispered, typing away rapidly on her phone.

"He's too normal Sherlock…" Ayra mumbled, picking her head up and scratching chin. "I don't do normal."

"So I'm aware." Sherlock mumbled under his breath, making Ayra look up.

"Don't worry boo, you are still my number one man." Ayra said, looking up at her phone once again. "Time to dump myself in the local trash can-" Ayra sang.

"He did wait two whole days to text me, which obviously rings out his intentions loud and clear… but still… so basic."

"Quite tedious, isn't it?" Sherlock nodded, making Ayra take a deep breath.

"No, quite a refreshing change, actually."Yeah sometimes I wish I was an hermaphroditic worm. Ayra mumbled, pulling her wallet out from the bag and paying the cab driver. "May be good for my mental health… but he still isn't the ideal wiggle my disgusting slobby body and live my life my life and exchange slimes with other worms to reproduce."

"You'll be bored.I don't understand why you voluntarily want to be bored." Sherlock whined, prancing up the stairs. "Ordinary people are boring – dating is boring! It's pointless… why would you want to make small talk by choice?"

"Um… so I can, eventually fall in love…" Ayra pushed him aside. "You know, I'm not like you. I do believe love is something much more than a chemical reaction."

"It really isn't." Sherlock argued back, making Ayra crunch her nose. "Just serotonin at its peak."

"Well… neither of us have ever been in love, so we aren't the once to , I really got you there with the bullshit, didn't I?" Ayra shruggedsmiled, waiting by a corner and watching tourists slowly make their way out of the museum. "I think I deserve an Oscar for that. Your girl here will never find the Hollywood Version of love- it's doesn't exist."

"Please, you're making people uncomfortable." Sherlock commented, noticing the confused stares for passer-byers overhearing their conversation.

"You're just sad because I'm stealing the spotlight from you." Ayra pouted.

"Your cynicism isn't natural-" Sherlock replied sharply, "Almost seems fake to the untrained eyes." Ayra remained quiet, making Sherlock meet her eyes.

Her eyes, there was something very different about them. He could see the bright colors of greens and golds turn into a dark shadow, like a storm. The bright light from her eyes were gone, and they almost seemed dead. "You have no idea what I'm truly capable of, Holmes." She whispered, making his skin prickle. It was unnerving, looking at her eyes. It's as if he wasn't looking at Ayra's eyes, but something very, very sinister. No one can gauche a reaction like that from him-

"Its' all facts and data…" Sherlock whispered, taking a seat by a bench and checking his time impatiently. "Where's John. He should be here."

"I don't mean the levels of neurotransmitters, I mean what events provoke such… surges?" Ayra shrilled, tucking her legs in. "I mean, it must be nice to be that happy at some point in time, right?" Sherlock looked at her from the corner of his eyes, her façade of usual excitement and happiness slowly dissipating as a shadow of sadness overcame. It lasted only for a few seconds until she realized she let her guards down. She looked up, noticing Sherlock observing her and smiled, but not her usual smile.

"There you two are." John said, out of breath. "I've been looking for ages." Sherlock blinked rapidly, losing his train of thought. He looked up at John with confusion, and then back at Ayra. She greeted him with a bright smile, as if nothing had changed.

Sherlock looked at her with disbelief, blinking rapidly again.

"We were on a date." Ayra said, nodding her head. John paused panting and stood straighter, his face filled with actual horror.

"What?" John exclaimed, looking at Sherlock with shock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away, making Ayra giggle. "Oh, I see… funny that one was. And impossible."

"Scotland Yard seemed to believe it." Ayra said, crossing her arms.

"That should show you the level of Scotland Yard's incompetence." Sherlock answered, clearing his throat, making Ayra shake her head. "Should be wise for us to stake out and wait in the restoration room. She should come there once everyone has left."

He got up swiftly from his chair and looked back, watching Ayra smile and have a casual, pointless conversation with John. No one can bring upon that expression with acting, well… not unless they were taught to.

There was something very, very major he was missing from this puzzle.

* * *

Ayra looked at Soo Lin Yao, a beautiful girl not much older than her, crouch her knees together and rest her chin on it, taking a deep breath. She was mortified, and for obvious reasons. Ayra knew exactly what she was going through – waiting for death. "You saw the cipher; you know he's coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." Sherlock commented, his eyes not blinking once.

"I had to finish… to finish this work. It's only a matter of time before he finds me." Soo Lin said.

"Who is he? Have you met him before?" Ayra asked, leaning her head in. Soo Lin turned around and nodded, looking down.

"When I was a girl, living back in China… I recognized… his 'signature.'" Soo Lin said.

"The cipher." Sherlock replied robotically, making Soo Lin nod again.

"Only he would do this… Zhi Zhu." Soo Lin revealed.

"The Spider?" Ayra and Sherlock exclaimed at the same time, making John look back at Ayra. "I took Mandarin in college."What? I am fluent in 17 languages."

Soo Lin lifted her right leg on the counter and began to undo her shoe laces, quickly pulling off her shoes. Ayra got up and turned to see the tattoo on Soo Lin's sole, the tattoo of a black lotus flower inside a circle. "You know this mark?"

"Yes, it's the mark of a Tong." Sherlock said, pursing his lips.

"Hmm?" John asked, looking at Ayra and Sherlock blankly.

"Ancient crime syndicate in China." Sherlock replied. Ayra looked down at the tattoo carefully. She took a short breath and kept her expression neutral; she has seen that mark before. – sheSoo Lin could have been no more than twenty-five, and that tattoo looked old. She frowned and looked at Soo Lin.

"How old were you, when you started smuggling for them?" Ayra asked, crouched down on her knees. Soo Lin looks down and puts her shoe back on, biting the inside of her cheek.

"I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day to day except for working for the bosses.

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked.

"They are called the Black Lotus." Soo Lin informed, making Ayra creased her eyebrows deeply. The Black Lotus… she has heard that name before. She can't quite put her finger on it, but she was sure she had heard of them before. Biting the inside of her cheek, Ayra turned her attention back to Soo Lin.

"By the time I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds' worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong. But I've managed to leave that life behind – I came to England." Soo Lin flashes Ayra a small smile, turning to Sherlock. "They gave me a job here; everything was good… a new life."

"Then he came looking for you." Ayra added.

Soo Lin pursed her lips and gulped, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. "Yes." She continued. "I thought after five years they would have forgotten me, but they never really let you leave. A small community like ours – they are never very far away." She let a single drop of tear roll down her eyes, quickly wiping it off. "He came to my flat. He asked me to track down something that was stolen."

"And you have no idea what it was?" John asked, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"I refused to help." Soo Lin said. John leaned forward, resting his arm against the counter.

"So, you knew him well? Back when you were living in China?" John asked. Soo Lin nodded in response and sniffled, looking up at Sherlock.

"Oh yes…" She whispered, her voice cracked. "He's my brother."

* * *

Sherlock and Ayra are hunched over Soo Lin, showing her the ciphers that were left on the wall. The numbers were codes that were based upon a book – which meant it was a book both Van Coon and Kurtis owns. Ayra jolted up when all the lights went off in a snap, leaving the room in cold, eerie darkness. Soo Lin looks around, her eyes filled with dread as she gulped painfully.

"He's here… Zhi Zhu." Soo Lin whispered, her eyes wide. "He has found me." Without a warning, Sherlock turned around and raced out of the room, leaving John and Ayra baffled. Ayra opened her mouth and looked up at John in confusion, unsure of what to do next.

"Sh-Sherlock!" John whispered urgently, balling his fists.

"There's a closet over there." Ayra said, making John take Soo Lin's hand and lead her there.

"Get in!" John said, pushing Soo Lin under and taking Ayra's hand next. Ayra look up and pursed her lips dramatically.

"Whatcha doin' solider boy?" Ayra asked, taking her hand away from him. "I'm going out there." John turned his lips into a thin line and shook his head violently, taking Ayra's hand again.

"Not a chance; this isn't up for debate." John said, pushing Ayra into the tiny closet with Soo Lin. "This is far too dangerous." Pushing John aside, Ayra headed towards the door, running towards the exit.

"See you on the other side!" Ayra laughed, waving him goodbye and leaving. John crunched his eyebrows and looked at Soo Lin, who was equally perplexed as he was.

"That girl is mental." John murmured under his breath, taking a deep breath. "Okay, you stay here and bolt the door shut once I leave. I have got to go and help them." John whispered, giving Soo Lin's hand one last tap and running out the exit.

Ayra ducked behind a pillar as a bullet rang out into the dark halls, making her _pretend_ squealmaking her squeal. Covering her head, she moved to the other pillar again, crawling under a display of ancient pots. "This is getting eventful." Ayra rolled her eyes, seeing Sherlock's shoes moves across the pale marble floor. Smiling mischievously, she crawled out of her hiding space, and ran up to him.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, pulling her aside and placing their backs flat against the wall.

"What? I'm not equipped enough to handle this because I'm a girl?" Ayra scoffed, crossing her arms dissent and frowning. "Get your head out of your ass, man child!"

"No, you aren't trained." Sherlock chewed out, both ducking again as another shot fired into the darkness. "Careful!" Sherlock shouted out, peeking from the corner of the wall. "Some of those skulls are over two hundred years old, have a bit of respect!"

"I do have training." Ayra whispered harshly, grabbing Sherlock's coat and peeking from his side. "And I have been in the middle of a cross fire before."

Sherlock looked down at Ayra and frowned, waiting for another shot to be fired. "Yes, I figured that bit out. Your hands are perfectly still…" Sherlock said, looking up. "The shots have stopped."

"See, you are smart." Ayra said, patting Sherlock's face and making him twitch under her touch. She smiled and straighten his coat, looking around the dark halls. "Now, where did he go?"

"I haven't the faintest-" Sherlock paused when he heard a single shot fire off into the distance, towards where the restoration room was. Looking up at Sherlock, Ayra parted her lips in dismay, her incongruous eyes rapidly moving across her eyes.

"That-" she muttered, making Sherlock nod.

"Yes." He said plainly, moving Ayra aside and running towards the restoration room. Ayra took a deep breath and followed shortly after him, trying not to slip and fall on the slippery marble floor. How could her own brother do this to her? Her stomach began to form in knots when she slowly entered the room, watching John peer over her body.

Ayra took a shaky breath and walked closer, seeing Soo Lin's body sprawled across the table with her arm extended out, planted with one single black origami lotus. Ayra closed her eyes and turned away, beginning to bite on the corners of her blunt nails. Soo Lin was a nice girl, from the ten minutes she knew her… and just like that, she's dead.

I am currently binge-watching Friends for the umpteenth time and, well, I don't know if you can tell but my OC is a mixture of all of them (some more than others) - she's most like Chandler (with the wry sarcasm), kind of crazy like Phoebe, OCD like Monica, obsessed with fashion and sort of a bitch at times like Rachel, academic like Ross and loves to eat like Joey.

Next chapter she meets Molly and gives her a genuine freak out. I can't wait to write that chapter

Anyways lemme know what you guys are thinking and don't forget to comment - those reviews put a smile on my resting bitch face.

* * *

Until next time 3


	8. Chapter 8

Ayra chewed the inside of her lip impatiently and look up from the corner of her eye, watching John clench his fists impatiently. "How many murders is it going to take before you start believing that this… maniac is out there." John commented rigidly, watching the young D.I. ignore him and walk right past him.

"He killed his own sister tonight because he was told to do so-" Ayra murmured, turning around to see the man's back. "Do you not realize how dangerous he is?" John shook his head and took a deep breath, blinking his eyes rapidly.

"A young girl was gunned down tonight – and that's three victims, in three days, and you're supposed to be finding him." John said tightly, pointing his finger at the detective. Giving up on the lack of his response, John backed off as Sherlock moved closer to him, leaning closer.

"Brain Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers, a gang called the 'Black Lotus', operating here in London… right under your nose." Sherlock said tauntingly, making the D.I. finally meet his eye.

"Can you prove that?" Dimmock asked, making John turn to Ayra, his eyes burning in frustration. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and backed off, swiftly heading towards the door.

"I guess that means yes." Ayra mumbled, throwing her arms up in the air and running after her. "Oi! Where are you going?"

"I need to look at the bodies once again." Sherlock said, turning around. "Look for the seal in their feet."

"How are you going to get in the morgue this late at night Sherlock?" Ayra asked, looking around to see John nowhere in sight. He must have gone home because it was ridiculously late. Shrugging, she slid into the cab after him and stretched her legs. Sherlock didn't answer her, instead he had his eyes closed. He was clearly having one of his moments, which meant she didn't exist. Taking a deep breath, Ayra pulled out her phone and began to swipe through her Instagram feed, seemingly bored.

"Oh look… engaged… oh look… job… oh look three years anniversary… oh look Vegas with the girls" Ayra mumbled and took a vexed breath and looked up. Ayra may have had her professional life at check (even though she forced herself to take a year sabbatical), and she also got a teaching assistant position for the undergraduate program- but, her personal life was a mess.

She pursed her lips and looked beside her – there were only three men in her life now, one was John, who was knee deep in friend zone since day one and more like a guardian to her, then there was a fuck boy she met in her class who seemed decent in the beginning, but she knew he was a heartbreaker. And third there was Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man she's been attracted to and who felt nothing for her in return, ever. Feeling all the bluer, Ayra turned around and looked out into the sleepless city of London.

Her life was shitty, but it was all her doing… at least now she can have a year away from all… _this_. After all, she did get shot at by a Chinese acrobatic hit man today, which really made her miss work. But her thoughts drifted to her taste in men. She was the person everyone always came to when they met someone new. Ayra could tell a person by a blink of an eye, and she was always right – but when it came to herself… she was a disaster, and on purpose at that.

Ayra crooked her eyebrows and opened snapchat when she received one from Saw Watts. It was one in the morning and there is only one kind of snapchat one sends to the opposite or same sex after midnight. Upturning her lips, her thumb itched to opened, but instead she shoved her phone straight into her bag and crossed her arms tightly around her chest.

"You look disturbed." Sherlock said quietly, making her look at him from the corner of her eye.

"Nah, just getting nudes." Ayra took a deep breath and slid her back, slowly sinking it down on the seat.

"Nudes of what?" Sherlock asked, his nose crinkled.

Ayra said nothing, but simply pointed at Sherlock's crotch, making him look down and frown, "Has no one ever sent you a nude before?"

"No." Sherlock replied coldly, looking at her curiously. She scoffed and looked away, shoving her hair behind her back.

" I don't know, you give off a real 'sick fuck Christian Grey' vibe"." She whispered under her breath, a smirk fixated on her face. She turned back and flashed him a small smile. "It's probably the suits." She looked up and saw an old hospital called St. Bartholomew's Hospital, with his white walls faded and adorned with mossy green. "Wow this is pretty…"

"It's a hospital." Sherlock replied, unimpressed as he paid the driver and slid off. Ayra looked up and admired the old, almost hauntingly old structure of the building.

"Still pretty." Ayra shrugged, taking faster paces to keep up with him. They began to walk towards the cafeteria, making her mouth salivate. Most people always hate on hospital food, but she always found it quite delicious. She was the petty one in the family stealing sick people's leftovers. Sherlock stopped behind a small brunette, holding a tray and looking down at her two options.

"What are you thinking, pasta or pork?" Sherlock asked to her in his rich deep voices, startling her and making her turn around. Seeing him she smiled shyly, her cheeks gaining color.

"Pick the pasta…" Ayra whispered to herself, as that's the only option she would've chosen. So, the pathologist is a fan of Sherlock Holmes, judging by the way she was visibly shook.

"Oh, it's you…" she smiled and ducked down. She was a mousy girl, with rich chocolate brown hair and brown eyes. Her face was kind and you could tell she has never spoken up against anything her whole life. Her passiveness was viewed as a weakness and exploited against – by someone like Sherlock.

"It'd stick with the pasta… you wouldn't want roast pork, if, you're slicing up cadavers." Sherlock added, with an almost charming smile. Ayra looked up at him and winced, feeling helplessly sorry for the girl. That was Mr – 'I don't court'. She ducked her head down and snorted, making Sherlock pinch her under his jacket. She looked up and gave him a forceful push, making Sherlock lightly tumble forward.

"Hi." Ayra said, cutting through the strange tension. The pathologist finally looked away from Sherlock and looked at Ayra, her bright smile wiping off in a heartbeat. The woman wrinkled her eyebrows and gave her a tense smile, unsure of what to do next. "Oh, I'm just the new tenant upstairs."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson finally found a tenant who stayed." She smiled, shakily extending out her hand. "Hi, my name is Molly…" she said, her voice squeaky as she looked away. "Your eyes are very, pretty. I mean… you are very, very pretty… in general… like everything."

"Thank you so much dear." Ayra smiled, shoving Sherlock away so she was in front of him. "And you are quite lovely yourself. I love your hair." She shyly touched her hair and smiled, looking down.

"Th-thank you." She replied in a small voice, looking back at Sherlock. "So you're working here tonight?"

"Need to examine some bodies." Sherlock answered.

"Some?" Molly asked immediately.

"Eddie Van Coon and Brain Lukis." Sherlock said, his voice gentle. Molly looked down on the clipboard and arched her eyebrows, looking up at him.

"They are on my list." She said softly.

"Would you wheel them out again for me." Sherlock asked, in the most charming voice one could possibly put on. If he ever talked even to Ayra that way, her mouth would become dry and lord knows what emotions he was swirling up in the poor woman.

"W-well… their paperwork's have already gone through." Molly fumbled through her papers, looking up with blank eyes. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and blinked, pointing to her head.

"You changed your hair." He commented, making Molly blink rapidly. Ayra turned away and rolled her eyes and hard as she could, having the urge to smack Sherlock stark across his face.

"What?" Molly asked, chuckling nervously.

"Th-the style, it's usually parted in the middle." Sherlock shrugged, while Molly's eye's slowly grow wider.

"It-it's…" Molly stuttered, her eyes rapidly moving.

"No, no… it's good." Sherlock said, quirking the corner of his lips. "Suits you better this way." Molly looked up to her forehead and smiled, her cheeks blushing profusely. Ayra stood there, looking from the corner of her eyes at Sherlock, who wiped his smile off as soon as she turned around from view. She blocked her view and smacked him hard on his chest, making him wince.

"Prick." Ayra said plainly, walking behind Molly who turned around to see what was happening.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, putting her empty tray down and gesturing them to follow her out of the cafeteria.

"Of course." Ayra smiled, looking back at Sherlock and burning her at Sherlock, who narrowed his eyes back at response. "Everything's swell."

"I'm sorry if I'm being rude, but I completely forgot to ask you why you are in London." Molly asked, her voice small.

"I'm a grad student, sorry, postgraduate student at LSE." Ayra smiled, hearing Sherlock's heavy footsteps behind her. "It's almost going to be a month since I moved here."

"Oh, so how are you liking London?" Molly asked politely.

"Well, you know… it's been quite eventful since I moved into 221B." Ayra said, pushing her long hair back behind her shoulders. "But I love it!"

"I'm glad you like it here." Molly said, as she scooted closer to Ayra. "Hope he isn't giving you too much trouble."

"Oh, no…" Ayra said, looking behind her shoulder to see Sherlock look at her curiously. "All you gotta do is just smack him around a little bit – sometimes he needs it." Molly giggled and opened the door to the morgue, reaching straight for the vaults and pulling out the two bodies. Sherlock pulled his phone out and began typing away, but his eyes on Ayra next to him.

"What?" Ayra asked under her breath, pinching her nose to block the rotting smell.

"What offended you?" Sherlock asked, while Molly was busy with her work.

"You are using the poor girl!" Ayra whispered harshly, making sure Molly wasn't listening. The pathologist began to hum to herself, with a smile plastered to her face as she worked; she seemed so happy. "Sherlock, she's in love with you."

"I'm aware." Sherlock answered, his face straight. Ayra crooked her eyes and made a gurgling noise of disgust. "It is just a chemical reaction Ayra. And as if you've never done this before."

"Mine was- "Ayra stuttered, crossing her arms "different" her voice low. "And they had it coming anyways. She's a lovely girl!"

"I simply gave her a compliment and she offered to help." Sherlock commented innocently, his expression reading as if he didn't know what he was doing. He blinked and thinned out his cupid lips, looking at the pathologist.

"That not what this is Sherlock." Ayra answered, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "That compliment you gave her… she will remember this for a long time. Things you say to her, compliments or not, are not fleeting for her."

"Can say the same for all the men who fell your victim." Sherlock shot back, making Ayra smile.

"Aah! Who cares about them?" she mumbled. Ayra turned around when the door to the morgue opened, with D.I. Dimmock walking through the doors, a stern expression plastered to his face. "We only need to see the feet." Sherlock said, walking around to get a better view of the body.

"The feet?" Molly asked with confusion, but nonetheless complied.

"Yes. Do you mind if we have a look at them?" Sherlock asked nicely, making Ayra look up and smile. He was making a genuine attempt this time, no charming bullshit. Molly walked up and unzipped the feet portion, revealing the same lotus tattoo on his sole. Sherlock looked up and gave a small smile, his arms knit behind him. "Now Van Coon." He said, strutting to the next body and waiting for Molly to open it. The same tattoo was present on Van Coon's body as well, making Sherlock turn to see the D. I's face.

"So…" Dimmock murmured, looking at Sherlock with obliviously.

"So, either these two men happen to visit the same Chinese tattoo parlor or I'm telling the truth." Sherlock said confidently.

Dimmock pursed his lips and twitched. "What do you want?"

"I want every book from Lukis' and Van Coon's flat." Sherlock commanded, making Dimmock crease his eyebrows in confusion.

"Their… books?"

XXXX

"Where are my baby?" Ayra asked as she burst through the front door to their building, knocking on Mrs. Hudson's apartment.

"Just a minute dear." Mrs. Hudson called from inside, opening the door with her sleepy eyes. "Ruth's asleep." Mrs. Hudson yawned, opening the door wider for Ayra to come inside. She leaned against the wall and admired the sleeping puppy on the floor, breathing softly and occasionally twitching.

"I'm going to make her an Instagram star" Ayra commented in awe. She reached down and grabbing the puppy in her arms, cuddling against its soft fur. "You are destined for greatness."

"Certainly are." Mrs. Hudson yawned again, heading for her bedroom. "You ought to get some sleep dear." She said quietly before disappearing. Ayra could feel big puppy squirm in her arm, but she wanted nothing more than to put on an oversized shirt, some shorts, take off her bra and go to bed.

Ayra hopped up the stairs eagerly, not wanting to attract any attention from the boys and slip right inside her apartment. Turns out it was a little hard to unlock her apartment whilst carrying an eight week old malamute puppy.

"Are we collecting for charity Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson's distinct voice rang downstairs, making Ayra stop fumbling through the door and peer down. "A young man's outside with crates of books." Mrs. Hudson said again.

"I'm not a part of this!" Ayra shouted, managing to unlock her door and close the door with her foot. Dropping the two dog on the floor, Ayra let out a deep breath and ran her hair through her fingers. She was so tired, she couldn't even properly function. Quickly running to the bathroom, she took her makeup remover and began to wipe everything off her face, splashing it with cold water. She had a mountain of work to prepare, including lecture plans and heaps of reading she didn't even touch.

She swiftly stripped out of her clothes and put on her sleeping clothes, being interrupted by a loud knock on her door. Groaning, she stomped to the front door and opened it, being greeted by John.

"Yeah… there is no way the two of us can go through all of them." John said, pointing to the boxes being brought up one by one. Ayra looked up and rubbed her eyes, not wanting to be rude to John.

"Fine…" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes again and closing the door softly behind her. "But when I get cranky, I do bite."

"So, the numbers are references." Sherlock said, his living room already filled. Ayra looked around and blew out a strand of hair from her face. She was certainly not getting any sleep tonight.

"To books?" John asked, his arms crossed.

"To specific pages and to the words on those pages." Sherlock said, looking around.

"Right, so fifteen and one…" John murmured.

"Turn to page fifteen and it's the first word you read." Ayra said, comfortably taking a seat in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock acknowledged her for a second, crooking his eyebrows and turning back to John.

"So what's the message?" John posed again.

"Depends on the book." Sherlock swiftly replied. "That's the cunning of book code… has to be one they both own." Sherlock said, taking a deep breath as his eyes swam over the boxes.

"Okay fine…" John said, beginning to prop open one of the boxes. Ayra rolled her eyes and groaned, reaching for the closest box and opening it. While she too herself had quite an impressive library back home, why did these two deceased gentlemen have so many. She actually owned more, but currently she was hating books a bit.

She began to pull out every book out of the box until it was empty. It was something they both owned – that should certainly narrow the field down a bit, right? Ayra pushed back her glasses and looked up to see Dimmock carrying an evidence bag.

"We found these at the museum." He said, holding up a the picture from the wall John found. "Are these your writing?"

"We were hoping Soo Lin could solve them for us." John said, taking the evidence bag from him. He took a deep breath and turned to Sherlock, who was completely ignoring him.

"Is there anything else I can do?" he asked politely while Sherlock continued to ignore him. "To assist you…?"

"Some silence right now would be marvelous." Sherlock said without looking up, making Ayra lightly kick his shin. Sherlock looked down in annoyance while she mouthed the word 'rude'. He simply rolled his eyes and continued to do his work. Ayra stiffly continued to pile books and put the same ones in another corner. Before she knew it, she was knocked out cold on the floor.

XXXX

Ayra woke up with the bright sunlight peaking her eyelids. She stretched her arms, realizing she was cuddled warmly inside a blanket, although not her own. Looking around curiously, she realized she was in Sherlock's room. She has never been in his room before, especially since he always kept it locked and never let anyone in. She would have thought he had a sex dungeon inside, but turned out to be a perfectly normal room.

Perhaps it was too normal. The bedsheets were expensive and clean… smelled like lavender. The room was spotless, with not one thing out of place unlike the rest of their apartment. It looked as if this room was barely used.

Ayra rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up halfway when she heard the door open. Sherlock walked straight in and opened the door to his closet, a gorgeous old mahogany piece. "Why am I here?" Ayra asked, her voice completely broken.

"Because you decided to fall asleep instead of being of any use." Sherlock said, pulling out a crisp purple shirt.

"How did I get here?" Ayra asked, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and yawning, scratching her head.

"I dragged you in." Sherlock answered plainly, taking his coat off. Ayra shrugged and her body fell backwards again, not entirely ready to get up yet. She yawned and crooked her eyes and she saw Sherlock beginning to take his shirt off. She sharply turned her head and hid between the blankets, holding her breath in.

That was possibly the most beautiful pale skin she'd ever seen. It was unnatural for a man to have such great skin. It looked like chiseled ivory. Ayra's throat felt dry and she shamelessly stared. It's not that he was jacked, but his body was very well built and lean. Those light abs looked delicious. She looked away and let out a restraint breath, her cheeks burning with heat.

Ayra squeezed her eyes shut and ran out of the room, running straight upstairs. She closed her door behind her and leaned up against the fading blue wood, looking up at the ceiling. "Job well done to you." Ayra winked and flashed a thumbs-up in the sky, pressing two fingers against her lips and kissing up.

At least she had a date today, and she was most definitely putting out.


	9. Chapter 9

Ayra ran her fingers through her tangled hair and cuddled inside her coat. Since she dyed her whole hair, she hasn't been taking proper care of it – and it was about time she changed her hair again. Today was the first day she gave lectures, to a group of rich pricks who never had to wipe their own asses after taking a shit. And of course, one student had to come up and ask her out after class. Taking a deep breath, Ayra opened the door and saw John walk down the sidewalk towards her, a bright smile on his face.

"You look happy." Ayra smile, closing the door behind her and anxiously taking off her coat.

"Um, yes… today was… was a good day." John blushed, making Ayra smile.

"You met a hot doctor." Ayra nodded, giving him a playful punch. "Do tell me more."

"Her name is Sarah, and she's great." John smiled. "Really great." Ayra crooked her eyebrows in dissatisfaction and frowned. Girls tell each other everything – from height to how their breath smells. Guys… are bleak.

"I forgot how infuriating it was to talk to a guy about their love-life." Ayra snorted, opening the door to Sherlock's apartment. He was still slouched over books, rummaging through them like a madman. He ran his fingers through his disheveled mop of curls and stirred them violently, taking a deep breath.

"We are going out tonight, I need some air." Sherlock said, placing his arms on his hips. Ayra and John looked at each other and shrugged.

"Actually I've… um… got a date." John said with a sly smile.

"What?" Sherlock asked, as if it was the most shocking news he's ever heard.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun." John answered awkwardly. Sherlock frowned his lips and looked down on the floor.

"That's what I was suggesting." He said innocently, making Ayra snort.

"No, it wasn't." John answered, shaking his head. "At least I hope not." Sherlock put his hands inside his pockets and moved around the boxes.

"And where are you taking her?" He asked.

"Um, cinema." John said, making Ayra upturn her lips.

"Oh, which one?" She asked enthusiastically.

"Dull, boring, predictable." Sherlock said, adding a smile. He pulled out something from his pocket and handed it to John. "Why don't you try this. In London for one night only." Ayra got up curiously and saw a crumbled piece of flyer, or a ticket in John's hand, something of a Yellow Dragon Circus. Ayra backed off and smiled. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't want to go out for fun – she knew exactly what this was about. A Chinese Circus in London only for one night, and the crimes had a particularly acrobatic hint to them.

"Huh… thanks but I don't come to you for dating advice." John said, trying to give Sherlock back the tickets.

"Better than a cinema." Sherlock said with disgust. John reluctantly took the tickets and shoved them in his pocket, turning around to go to his room upstairs. Ayra slid back in Sherlock's chair and crossed her legs, casually swinging them. "How good are you with a gun?" Sherlock turned around and asked, making Ayra smile.

"I'm your second option?" Ayra shrugged dramatically, swinging her hair back. "I'm offended."

"You aren't a soldier." Sherlock said, trying to shove her from the chair unsuccessfully. Ayra stood her place and clutched onto the chair, making sure she wouldn't move anywhere.

"It isn't nice that you sent John to a date when it's possibly going to end with a bloody murder." Ayra said, kicking Sherlock away. "And you'll have to go alone tonight."

"What, why?" Sherlock asked sharply, looking down at her.

"Because I too have a date." Ayra scoffed, once again seating comfortably. "And no, I'm not cancelling it because you need to catch the evil Chinese Spider-man." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and met eye level with her, making Ayra widen her eyes and smile.

"You'd much rather come solve this case than go on a date." Sherlock said, placing his hands under his chin.

"LOL, no." Ayra said, pushing her arms against the armrest and getting up. "Actually, that is usually the case, but not this time." Ayra got up and headed for the door, closing it behind her. She must admit, she was slightly intrigued about the circus. She knew something far more exciting than dinner was about to happen. But she needed to weight out her points – chasing the Chinese tirade, is 500 excitement points, but on the other hand, food is 200 points, hot guy is 100 points, and because she hasn't had sex in almost a year - sex is 1000.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson sat behind Ayra and looked at her in awe as she got ready. She blew on her false eyelashes and began to apply them slowly and carefully, making sure they were in the right place. "You look beautiful Ayra." Mrs. Hudson smiled.

"I'm not even done yet. And I'm wearing a $40 pair of eyelashes, so I better." Ayra didn't really need false eyelashes since her long, curled lashes were a subject of envy, but a dash of fake in her life was nothing new.

"$40 for a pair of eyelashes?" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, cuddling both of Ayra's puppies in her arms.

"Yeah, they plucked it straight from a mink's ass." Ayra shrugged, tweaking the corners with a tweezer. "But how fabulous do my eyes look?"

"That can't be proper attire Ayra." Mrs. Hudson was now standing and looking at the fifty different options Ayra had pulled out. Mrs. Hudson pinched a sheer lacy bodysuit and pulled it up, looking at her.

"Oh, yeah, the Kardashians made lingerie into acceptable social attire now." Ayra said, continuing to do her makeup. "Nips are fine too, but I have a piercing in one of them so it's a little too risqué." Ayra said, admiring her final work. She kept her eyes simple and her lips nude, just the way she liked it.

"What has come of the world…" Mrs. Hudson murmured, rummaging through Ayra's clothes. "There was once a time this was only used for entertainment."

"It still is… now we just entertain publicly." Ayra winked, pulling out a white Gucci shirt and a pair of crop ripped jeans. "Does this say 'I am a slut and open for business but also care about your socio-political ideologies.'"

"Um, perhaps the top can have a lower cut." Mrs. Hudson said, turning around.

"You're absolutely right." Ayra said, rummaging through the pile of clothes and pulling out a beautiful silk, hand-painted dress from Carolina Herrera, with a high slit. "Now this… this is one of my finest."

Mrs. Hudson widened her eyes, running her fingers through the fine silk. "Oh, what I would give to be twenty-three again." Ayra smirked and stripped out of her robe. It has been a long time since she dressed up to go somewhere.. Ayra adjusted her dress over her breasts and took a quick look in the mirror. A major part of her would much rather strip off her clothes and makeup and curl up with a good book and cuddle with her dog.

Taking a deep breath, she flipped her thick mass of chocolate hair behind her back, watching them falling in placid waves around her waist. "It is about time- so just slip and slide." She turned to her side when she heard footsteps, making her pout.

"Oh, you're ready." Sherlock said, turning away swiftly. "Let's go then."

"Do you not remember I have a date?" Ayra murmured, grabbing her leather jacket and folding it over her arms. "I, unfortunately, can't come." Sherlock paused and turned around, narrowing his eyes. She could feel his scrutinizing gaze on her, and she could read nothing. Ayra nonchalantly put on her jacket and coughed, pushing a strand of hair away, a small smile on her face.

"This… um… this suit's you." Sherlock said nervously, making Ayra's eyes grow wide. "The makeup, and the… the dress." Ayra almost cracked a shy smile before she realized what he was doing. Wiping her smile away, Ayra rolled her eyes and pushed him away.

"I'm not Molly, Sherlock. This isn't going to work on me." Ayra snickered, pushing him out of the way. "I don't like being underestimated, but do send me updates… you know, in case someone dies or something."

"I wasn't trying to do anything." Sherlock scoffed defiantly. Ayra turned around and hung her bag across her shoulders, biting her inner lip.

"You mean you weren't just complimenting me to get me flustered and to come with you? Like what you do on Molly Hooper – and make her jump hoops for you?"

"No…" Sherlock answered, narrowing his eyes.

Ayra shrugged her shoulders and headed out the door, a small smile on her face. "In that case, thanks!"

Ayra slowly sipped on her Rose, her eyes glued wide open. Has dating always been this dreadful? This man certainly was a piece of meat, but everything spewing out of his mouth was, unadulterated bullshit. Ayra's eyes kept flashing over other people at the restaurant, some just a miserable as her.

"So, yes" Same said, making Ayra jolt back to reality. "I got arrested in Ibiza, but thankfully my father got me out of it." Ayra crunched her eyebrows. She took another sip of her rose, trying to get the bitter taste of her mouth. She was beginning to think if the sex was even worth all this.

"Wonderful." Ayra smiled timidly, putting her glass down.

"So- have you ever gotten in trouble with the law?" He said, his eyes scanning her with x-ray vision. Ayra looked up, a million memories flashing through her head. She smiled, trying to contain her amusement.

"Um, no." she said coolly. "I have always been a straight-edged sword."

"Um, I doubt that." Sam sang, making her crease her eyebrows. "I get the sense that you're one of those rebellious girls who come from a religious family, like you know, like a super religious uslim family. I-I mean, look at your tits."

Ayra looked down, and then back up in disgust. She sat frozen for a few second, shaking her head. "I just remembered, I have never done this sober." She murmured to herself, pursing her lips. "Nah… nah this isn't worth it."

"Wait- I didn't mean to offend you-" Sam blurted out as Ayra's eyes shot darts at him.

"Let me take a wild, wild guess here." Ayra said, straightening her back. "You like the 'exotic' girls, the particularly those who have some sort of cultural restraint, like a Muslim girl, or an Asian girl whose parents only want them to date someone from their own culture. You fucking had the audacity to put me in a box and say that my family is some kind of stereotype… so no, I'm not offended."

Sam said nothing, his green eyes darting back and forth "Ok, want to go shag back at my flat?" he suggested. Ayra looked at him, with her cold, dead eyes. She looked down at her drink, with a drop of the pink liquor sitting in the bottom of the crystal glass.

"Okay." Ayra shrugged, throwing her napkin and getting ready to get off. A waiter sneaked up behind her, carrying a glass of champagne. The bubbling liquid poured down her porcelain color dress, trickling down her cleavage. She looked up, restraining her natural instincts to choke-slam the man.

"My fucking god!" Ayra moaned, watching her stained dress "This dress costs $3000!". She got up from the chair and dabbed the napkin on herself.

"I'm so sorry miss-" the waiter said, beginning to dab the napkin on her boob.

"Jesus please I can do it myself Bill Cosby-" Ayra began to shout when she looked up to finally see the waiter, making her pause. It was undoubtedly Sherlock in an awful disguise, with a wispy blonde wig and goatee.

She couldn't even fathom the situation she was in now. All the sudden Holmes was her knight in shining armor. She blew out a breath of relief and threw her arms around her, making Sherlock go stiff. "Oh, thank god you are here – I was about to hate fuck him."

"I was hoping for more resistance, but this suffices perfectly." Sherlock said timidly, wiggling out of her grasp.

"Sam… I guess your date is going to end with you and your lovely hand." She smiled, grabbing her jacket and shuffling to put it on. "And this has been simply dismal, and let's pretend like _this_ never happened."

"Wait! You're leaving with the waiter?" Sam asked, his expression filled with confusion. "But you said-

"Ugh- I just fucking can't…" Ayra groaned, grabbing her jacket furiously and stomping out of the bar. The wetness of the soaked chiffon chilled against her skin as the fall breezed by. She cuddled up in her jacket and clattered her teeth together.

"Well I was about to fall into my old ways." Ayra cried, shaking her head in disbelief. She has never had such high hopes for a date before, and it all came crashing down so fast. "And afterwards you'd hear me bitch about why this always happens to me."

"Self-destructive nature tends to do that." Sherlock said bluntly as he tore off his goatee and pulled on his wig, making Ayra's head snap at his direction. She tightened her fist and threw it in the air – she shrugged and flipped her hair behind her. That was the only thing Sherlock had right about her so much.

"Meh, can't argue with that logic" Ayra mumbled, sliding into the cab behind him. "I just can't control it… it's like, drinking Malibu once you start it just… tumbles on."

"On the plus side, we get to see what these Chinese smugglers do as a side job." Sherlock said. "And also finally crack the case."

"You just want to go to the circus." Ayra said, crossing her arms. She shivered inside her jacket, and the dampness of her wet top wasn't helping. "Does John know we are about to ruin his date?"

"Hasn't the faintest." Sherlock smiled, pulling out the ticket and handing it to her. "This may be our only chance to catch them before they disappear again."

"If I can't have a good evening, no one can." Ayra said, folding the ticket and shoving it inside her back. "And splashing champagne on my tits was a little extra Sherlock."

"Was simply playing the part." Sherlock answered absently, looking out the window.

Ayra scooted closer to his and looked up at his pale face, almost as white as cream. "Admit it, you just wanted to go for it."

"Don't flatter yourself." Sherlock snapped, making Ayra crack a shy smile. "I have already told you, I have no interest in your breasts. They are solely there for nurturing infants."

"So, you are an ass guy?" Ayra asked.

"Why would I be remotely interest in possibly the most disgusting part of the human body?" Sherlock asked, his expression blank. Arya scoffed and rolled her eyes, knowing everything he was saying was just so he could piss her off. She still remembers his freaky sex book.

"Cuz you have a book full of fucked up ways to make a chick cum." Ayra rolled her eyes.

"That's research!" Sherlock snapped, making Ayra's eyes roll so hard it almost got stuck to the back of her head. "Stop being cynical of my work please."

"That isn't work Sherlock; you are just a tamer version of Christina Grey and it's a basic, human need." Ayra mumbled, looking down at her ruined dress. At least the shirt was black and the rose stain won't show that much. "You bitch, you ruined my dress."

"That's last season anyways." Sherlock replied casually, still looking away from her. Ayra took a deep breath, watching this overgrown manchild next to him. For someone who claims to be a sociopath, he certainly had a very thin skin.

"It's the pre-fall collection!" Ayra pouted, looking down her dress. "Either way, I'm getting my three-thousand dollar's back."

"Yes, take my card." Sherlock said, waiving his hand as face morphed into his usual thoughtful expression. Ayra's smile grew wider, her dimples denting her cheeks.

"Well, thank you daddy?" Ayra smirked as Sherlock gave a small grunt, his eyes shut closed. His head relaxed back on the headrest uncomfortably, as his expression remained serene. What when on that enigmatic brain of his?

"I… um, thank you again." Ayra said. "I needed to be dragged out of there by an outside force."

"Yes, he has a girlfriend in Wales, you know." Sherlock replied, his eyes still closed. Ayra giggled and looked away, watching the still traffic honk and curse through the scamper street. "Do choose your men more wisely in the future."

"Yeah, they have been together for three years." Ayra exasperated. "I thought I was done with this. I mean I know how shitty I would feel if my man were ever to cheat on me. Ayra widened her eyes and looked behind her, as he remained in the position he was for the past. Shitty is an understatement as to what she would feel, and if this were ever to happen to her, things would end in bloodshed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Ayra continued to look out the window. "You can't help attraction." She whispered. Ayra thought Sherlock had already drowned in his Mind Palace and was unaware of everything around him, but behind her, he peaked his eyes open slowly.

* * *

"Hi, er, I have two tickets reserved for tonight." John murmured, his beautiful date behind him smiling shyly.

"And what's the name?" The manager asked, looking very uninterested.

John reached for his wallet in his back pocket and pulled it out. "Holmes."

The ticket manager began shuffling through the reservations, looking down at it with confusion. He tilted his head and looked up, his expression blank. "I actually have four tickets under this name."

John paused and looked up, his body still. "No I don't think so. I only booked two."

"Then I called back and got two more." Sherlock said, in his rich deep voice. Ayra had to admit, she felt awful for intruding John's date, but the bigger part of her was simply excited. Ayra popped up behind Sherlock and smiled shyly at John date, reaching her hand out to shake. John widened his eyes and let out an exasperated breath, rubbing his forehead.

"Hi, I'm sorry to be intruding." Ayra said sweetly. "My name is Ayra and I live upstairs to John."

"Hello." The woman smiled awkwardly, not really sure what to do next. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She looked up at Sherlock, who was busy probing her every aspect. She coughed and managed a smile.

"Hi." She cheered to Sherlock.

"Hello." He gave her his fake smile, and walking away in a flash. Ayra rolled her eyes and shrugged at the woman, looking at John.

"You were supposed to be on a date." John chewed out, his eyes burning at the back of Sherlock's head.

"I _am_ on a date." Ayra answered sarcastically, turning her head in Sherlock's direction and formed her lips into a thin line. John crooked his eyebrows and they both burst out into a hysterical laughter, making Sherlock turn around sharply.

"Nice try." John giggled, wiping the corner of his eyes.

"As if…" Ayra chuckled, her face blood red. Sherlock flashed eyes rapidly from one Ayra to John, his eyes narrowing.

"What's so scintillating about that?" Sherlock asked suspiciously. Ayra snorted and shook her head, giving John a look.

"That a pretty fucking hilarious impossibility, Sherlock." Ayra murmured. John's date, who's name was Sarah, excused herself to go to the restroom. John scurried off after Sherlock, stopping his in his tracks.

"You couldn't let me have just one night off?" John chewed out.

"Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits… the Tong sent an assassin to England-"

"Dressed as a tightrope walker. C'mon Sherlock, behave!" John snapped, looking around to make sure no one was listening to him. "And what did you do to _her_ date?" John asked.

"Oh, he didn't do anything, well he did but the guy was just after my dick." Ayra shrugged, getting a funny look from John.

"We are looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China, so they need a pretty good reason to get out of the country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around this place…"

"Fine, you two do that. I'm going to take Sarah out for a pint." John said tightly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and continued sternly. "I need your help as well."

"I do have a couple of other things in my mind this evening!" John argued, looking back a Ayra with disbelief.

"Like what?" Sherlock asked, making Ayra groan. John gaped his mouth open and looked back at Ayra, making her snort skeptically.

"You are kidding." John snorted nervously, looking at Ayra for help. She gave Sherlock a helpless look, not sure to believe that Sherlock doesn't actually know what usually happens after a date.

"What's so important?" He asked, making Ayra rub her face in frustration.

"Sherlock, I am right in the middle of a date. Do you want me to chase around some killer while I'm trying to-"

"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"To get off with Sarah!" John screeched, in the perfect moment she would come back from the restroom. Ayra widened her eyes and stepped away, trying her best not to make the worst possible situation even worse, like she usually does.

"Ready?" John asked awkwardly, knowing all too well she had heard.

"Yeah." She replied politely, asking him to lead the way. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to walk up the stairs. Ayra looked around the relatively small crowd, all heading towards a run-down auditorium hall. In the center of the room, a circle of lit candles was barred off, possibly as a stage. In the middle stood a bulky object covered in heavy tarp and a plywood filled with shackles. It was an escapology act, without a doubt.

Ayra was beginning to regret her choice of shoes, and she never originally intended to do much walking nor standing earlier in the evening. Groaning in discomfort, she reached for the intricate straps of her Louis Vuitton's and cradled them close to her chest as if they were the most fragile thing in the world.

"You said circus. This is not circus. Look at the size of the crowd. Sherlock, this is… art." John noticed, his expression grim.

Ayra leaned closer to John and whispered. "This isn't their day job." John moaned and moved away, presumably from the fact that Ayra too had joined Sherlock's bandwagon.

"Oh sorry, I forgot. They aren't a circus, they are a gang of International smugglers." John laughed dryly, folding his arms together. The auditorium drops silent when the steady rhythm of a hand drum began ringing, with a woman in her mid-age dressed in beautiful red silk robes and illustrious headdress walked into the middle of the stage. She looked around the audience and put her hand up in the air, signaling for the drums to come to a stop.

She slowly walked over to the covered object and pulled the tarp to reveal an antique Chinese crossbow, just as Ayra had guessed. The woman pulled out a razor sharp white arrow and fitted it in front of the target. She reached for her headdress and pulled out a feather, showing it to the audience. Carefully, she placed the feather on the trigger plate, and the audience saw the arrow shoot at lightning speed.

Ayra and Sherlock were the only one watching with a still face as the rest gasped and awed at an arrow shooting. Sarah and the rest began to applaud as the drums began thumping again. A man dressed in chain-mail and a contorted mask walked in as someone began to chain him to the plywood.

"Classic Chinese escapology act." Sherlock whispered to them.

"Hmm?" John asked absently, his eyes fixed on the stage.

"The crossbow is on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires." Sherlock continued. Ayra looked up at Sherlock and smiled; he _did_ want to come to see the circus.

As the woman loads another arrow, more bonds and padlocks are added to the warrior as he groaned dramatically, making Ayra giggled. John, Sherlock and Sarah's attention turned to her.

"Do you think that's the sound he makes when he climaxes?" She asked Sarah, making her burst in laughter. She looked and John and stopped laughing.

"I'm sorry." She said, looking down on the floor. John moved closer to Ayra and peered past his shoulder.

"Do learn to behave." John pleaded, making both Ayra and Sherlock smile. The warrior cries out again, this time eliciting a restraint laughter from both John and Sarah, trying to stop themselves immediately. The music begins to build up as the warrior is put in his bond, and with the clang of the drums, Sarah jumps and catches onto John in fright.

"Oh, God… I'm sorry." She said, curling her arm around his.

"She splits the sandbag. The sand begins to pour out and the wright gradually lowers onto the bowl." Sherlock informs. Ayra looked up at him and smirked.

"We didn't sign up for audio commentary." Ayra said as Sherlock upturned his lips, kind of hurt. She smiled and squeezed his arms, holding onto it. "I'm just messing with your funny brain Holmes."

"You're rather tedious to be around sometimes." Sherlock murmured, making her smile.

"I strive to do so every day." Ayra said, reaching on her tiptoes to get a better view of what was happening. As Sherlock said, the woman reached for her knife and split the sandbag, with grains of sand slowly pouring out. The warrior begins to cry out again as he attempts to break free of his bonds. He tugs and managed to get one hands out while the metal ball draws awfully close to the trigger plate. Ayra knows all too well he will be able to get out in time – if not, that would indeed something worthwhile. He frees both his hands and begins to tug at the chain clamped around his neck, tugging desperate. The weight draws down to the edge of the plate, and I just a matter of seconds the warrior ducks down as the arrow pierces the plywood.

The audience erupts in applause, genuinely surprised he managed to get off.

"Thank god." Sarah breathed out in relief, looking at John. The warrior stood in the middle of the makeshift stage and waits for his applause to end until it lowered down. The woman raises her hand to mark the audience to fall silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, from the distant moonlight shores of Yangtze River, we present for your pleasure… the deadly Chinese bird-spider!" She announced.

Everyone's attentions goes up as a man begins to descend from the ceiling using long bands of red cloth. Ayra grimaces at the fact that the fabric was so close to the candles, and this was a very serious safety hazard. She looked at Sherlock and knew exactly was he was thinking, making her arch her brow.

"Did you see that?" John points Sarah to the acrobat swinging at the center, every move swaying closer to the lit candles. Ayra felt a tug at her hand, and she looked up to see Sherlock was pulling her away from the audience. Ayra absently followed him backstage, filled with props and bathed in darkness.

"Ayra looked around at the heaps of performance clothing as Sherlock peaked through the curtain, a smile on his face.

"Well well…" he said, looking behind his shoulder. "An acrobat who is called the Chinese bird-spider."

"Coincidence, I think not." Ayra said dramatically, both of their attention snapped as they heard a click on the door, making them duck behind a rack of clothes. Ayra knelt down to see the woman check her cell phone in front of the mirror, looking down at in intently. Ayra and Sherlock duck back down when a clatter mans the woman turn around sharply. She holds her breath and she hears nothing but silence.

Sherlock looked over to see the woman leave, but something in a duffle bag caught Ayra's attention. She pulled out a can of yellow spray paint and showed it to Sherlock, making him smile.

"Found you." Sherlock sang, gesturing Ayra to get up. He walked over to the mirror and shakes the spray.

"What are you doing?" Ayra whispered, looking at Sherlock draw a horizontal line on the mirror.

"Simply leaving a friendly note." Sherlock said as he paused. Ayra looked at the mirror and saw a glimmer of movement behind her. Her eyes began to focus and she realized the mask was moving. She swiftly moves to her left and crouches as the man with a sword attacks Sherlock. Sherlock moved back trying to doge the attacker's lashes, defending himself with a can at the same time. Frantically looked around for any potential weapon, Ayra picked up her shoe and looked at the pointy-edge heel.

Smiling, she sneaked up behind the warrior and pulled open his mask, banging him hard on the head with her shoe. Screaming in agony, the warrior turns around and swings his sword towards her, making her duck at ease and kick his chin with force.

Grabbing onto both Sherlock and Ayra, the warrior tumbles down and falls on the center of the performance stage. Tangled amongst the red curtains, Ayra managed to pull herself out only to find Sherlock in a chokehold and John on the floor. Moving her hair away from her face, she jumped behind the warrior and wrapped her arm tightly around his neck. Gasping for air, the warrior loosens his grip on Sherlock and desperately tries to catch Ayra behind him.

She was about to immobilize him completely when she realized she was being watched. This fight was nothing for her, but she needed to pretend that it was. She loosened her grip and let the man spry out of her hold, spinning around and knocking her down. Ayra hit her head hard on the ground, a throbbing pain searing across her forehead. Groaning, she got up and rubbed her head when Sarah grabs a log and starts beating the shit out of the attacker until he knocks out.

John scrambled onto his feet and takes Sarah's hand, leading her out. Still little dazed, Ayra felt herself being pulled up and she quickly reached for her discarded shoes, running after Sherlock barefoot.

"C'mon, lets get out of here…"

* * *

"You were brilliant out there." Ayra took a deep breath, watching Sarah smile. "Almost seems as if you have practice."

"oh, just a basic self-defense course." Sarah smiled, his cheeks flushed. "You were quite amazing yourself- it's like you knew what to do."

"It wouldn't be my first time attacking someone." Ayra said causally. "And I'm pretty sure at some point my boobs popped out. Oh… I gave the guy a peak at the sweet stuff before you gave him permanent brain damage."

"Well… in that case, let's just hope he gets amnesia." Sarah said smiling. Ayra giggled in response and watching Sherlock and John follow at rather grim-looking Dimmock.

"I sent in a couple of cars. And the hall is completely deserted." He reported timidly.

"Look, I saw the mark at the circus – that tattoo we saw on the two bodies: the mark of the Tong." Sherlock insisted.

"Lukis and Van Coon were a part of a smuggling operation. Now one of them stole something when they were in China; something valuable." John informed.

"These circus performers were gang members sent here to get it back." Sherlock said.

"Get what back?" Dimmock asked, making the three of them look at each other blankly. Sherlock chewed on his lip and looked away.

"We-we don't know…" John answered hesitantly.

"Mr. Holmes." Dimmock addressed him, making Sherlock look up. "I have done everything you have asked. Lestrade seems to think your advice is worth something. I gave the order for a raid, so please tell me I'll have something to show for it – besides a massive bill for overtime."

XXXX

Ayra narrowed his eyes and scanned over Sherlock's paperwork carefully, trying to find any holes they may not have seen before. Scooting closer and pushing up her glasses, she squinted once again.

"They'll be back in China tomorrow." John said, making Ayra turn around.

"They aren't going anywhere without the artifact." Ayra said, shaking her head.

"We just need to find their hide-out." Sherlock begins to run his finger over the picture, biting his lip. "Somewhere in here… it must be." The room falls silent when Sarah speaks up.

"Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it." She said, slowly stepping back.

"No please stay." Ayra said, while John insisted at the same time.

"I think it would be best to study if you left." Sherlock said simultaneously, making Ayra kick his foot. Sarah looked and John and Sherlock nervously, not knowing what to do next.

"He is only kidding… please do stay, if you like." John added a warm smile, making her more comfortable. Sarah smiled at Ayra and John and stepped forward.

"Is it just me or is anyone else starving." Sarah chuckled.

"Oh god." Sherlock groaned, when Ayra burned her eyes at him. Sherlock ignored her gaze and smiled at her.

"I'm always starving. Why don't I go down to Mrs. Hudson's and see what we can whip up?" As Ayra began to move, Sherlock clamped onto her wrist and pulled her back. Startled, Ayra looked up at him.

"I need your brain at this critical moment." Sherlock said plainly, letting go of her hand. Ayra let out a vexed breath and looked around.

"Guess I'm not going anywhere." She mumbled and moved towards the table, making Sherlock grab her again. "I'm going to the table, you needy bastard." Ayra yanks her arm from his grasp and takes a seat, pulling all the paperwork behind her. Her best method to work was to block all potential sound around her.

Her only focus was on what was in front of her, and she chose to ignore the questions Sarah asked Sherlock. Then it struck her like a lightening; squinting at the paper with ciphers, Ayra noticed small hand written notes underneath them, making her mouth open wide.

"Yo Sherlock…" Ayra said, pointing frantically at the paper. With a permanent expression of disdain plastered to his face, Sherlock looked at her and softened. He peaked over her shoulder and noticed what she was talking about. "She began to translate."

"John… look at this… Soo Lin at the museum – she began to translate the code for us." Sherlock rapidly got and headed for the door. "Ayra, grab your coat."

"No _chutia_. I'm hungry." Ayra whined, making Sherlock roll his eyes. "The book may still be on the counter-top, so you go get 'em!"

"She wrote down nine mille." Sherlock said, draping his coat around his shoulders.

"Does that mean million… nine million quid's! For what?" John exclaimed.

"We need to finish that sentence. Oh… we must have been staring right at it!" Sherlock grimaced, heading out the door before looking back at Ayra one last time.

"Shoo before they get it." Ayra said, waving her hand and watching the door close behind him. She shrugged her shoulders and rubbed her stomach, looking at John.

"We ordered takeout for you as well." John said reassuringly, making her smile. Ayra grabbed her shoes from the floor and headed for the door.

"Sarah, do you want to see my kid?" Ayra said enthusiastically, making Sarah squint her eyes.

"Y-you're a mother? Wow you're rather young. I'm sorry if that sounds offensive-" Sarah blurted out, looking at John nervously.

"She means a puppy." John said, looking back at Ayra. "Crazy dog lady over here adopted one yesterday."

"There is no such thing as crazy dog lady, John." Ayra said, making Sarah nod her head in agreement. "I may be crazy but my house full of dogs don't define me. Alcohol and my crumbling mental state defines me."

"You bought human baby onesies for her, and then photographed her wearing those onesies-" John said, making Ayra shrug.

"Your point, Doctor Watson?" Ayra snapped towards the door when the main bell rang, making her get up. "Well that was quick." She said, heading to open the door. She opened the door and an Asian man stood there, making her step back.

"Where is it?" He asked, making Ayra widen her eyes and take another step back, trying to signal John. Arya took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. She needed to be very careful and act as 'normal' as she possibly could, even if that meant getting kidnapped by the hands of a man she could kill within seconds. She rolled her eyes and shrugged, preparing herself.

"Nope." She answered, before getting hit in the head with the butt of his pistol and knocking out cold.

* * *

 _Chutia_ – means fucker in Bengali/Hindi


	10. Chapter 10

Ayra slowly fluttered her eyes open, her lids heavy. Everything was out of focus, and she heard nothing but faint whispers. Opening her eyes wider, she tried to focus on what was in front of her. The light was dim, and all she could see was a faint flicker of flame lit in the corner. Then came the shapes in front of her. Soon, she was lucid enough to know what was happening.

She rolled her eyes and lightly yanked on her arms and realized they were bound to her back with ropes. She was tied down to a chair and a muzzle clothe was placed tightly over her mouth. Amateurs were really starting to disappoint her.

"Huh… we finally have everyone's attention." Said the accented female voice. Ayra squeezed her eyes shut and lets out a low groan as a throbbing pain struck her forehead. It was just the stupid Tong gang, nothing really to panic about, at all.

This rookie only had three other men with her, all armed with semi-automated weapons. Looking around her, she noticed they were in an underground tunnel with walls arched enough to make the bullets ricochet if they are fired. Slowly turning around, she realized John and poor Sarah had been taken hostage as well. Ayra can't even imagine what that woman was going through – kidnaped by a gang of Chinese tirades on the first date.

"Tickets from the theater, collected by you, name of Holmes." The woman said, now speaking directly to John. John winced and looked down, biting his lip nervously.

"Yes, okay." he grimaced, taking a rugged breath. "I realize what this looks like, but I'm not him."

"We heard it from your own mouth." She said, making Ayra crook her eyes and look at John intently. She could tell he had entered a deep thought, trying to figure out what he said and when.

"What?" John asked, completely baffled.

"'I am Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone…"' The woman from the circus continued. "Because no one can compete with my massive intellect."

John looked up in disbelief, taking a deep breath. "Did I really say that?" Ayra closed her eyes in frustration and looked away, trying to find an escape. First thing she noticed – she was tied to a wooden chair, which she could break easily if she simply forced herself backwards. "I suppose there's no use me trying to persuade you I was doing an impression."

Without a warning the woman pulled out a pistol and pointed it straight to John's forehead. Ayra's eyes grew wide as she stared at the barrel of the gun, watching closely, if that gun is loaded, she has to take actions she really, really wants to avoid. John backed away and let out a shaky breath, fear engulfing him. "I am Shan." The woman said suddenly, making both Ayra and John look and the woman.

"Gefsdf Sqfddf-" Ayra muffled out, turning the woman's attention on her. She meant to ask if it was _the_ General Shan Soo Lin was talking about.

"Three times we tried to kill you and your companion, Mr. Holmes." Shan continued. "We tried to kill that girl too." She said, pointing her head towards Ayra. Ayra crooked her eyes and looked around – she can't remember any recent attempts on her life, so they must have been doing an exceptionally poor job. "What does it tell you when an assassin can't shoot straight?" she asked.

Ayra used her jaws to shove the piece of cloth tied over her mouth, setting herself partially free. "It tells me they are not fitted for the life of an assassin." Ayra commented, making General Shan look at her with annoyance.

Without notice, she slowly walked up to her, examining her closely. "Interesting." She said plainly, looking coldly into her eyes.

"Enlighten me." Ayra mumbled.

"You are nothing but a mere student… you should be like that woman over there, a pathetic mess." Shan spat, turning to look at Sarah. Her eyes were puffy red from tears, her face glistening in precipitation. Sarah's eyes grew with fear at the mention of her name. "Yet, you have no fear in those strange eyes."

Ayra fluttered her eyelashes and looked down on the floor. "Oh no, you must be mistaken, I'm practically shitting myself." She replied humorlessly, her voice low.

"Ayra!" John whispered sharply, wincing. Once again, Shan turned to John, returning her attention to him.

"Mr. Holmes, as I was saying. When an assassin can't shoot straight…" she said, pointing the gun over his head once again. John turned to the side and squeezed his eyes shut, sweat pouring down his forehead. Ayra balled her fists behind her, watching the trigger intently. As she readied herself, the trigger clicked, making Ayra's breathing hitch. However, no shots fired. "It tells you they are not really trying."

Ayra looked up at the ceiling and took a quivering breath, if the gun was loaded, John would have died and she would have just sat there, doing nothing when she is capable of so much. "If we wanted to kill you Mr. Holmes, we would have done it by now." Shan said, making Ayra roll her eyes. "Do you have it?" she asked harshly.

"Have what?" John asked.

"The fucking treasure John!" Ayra snapped, making John look at her wearily. "Hey, listen, you incompetent cunt – that is not Sherlock Holmes; his name is John Watson, and he's a doctor and was never a part of your problem. He is the least of your problems. And the treasure, which one of your smugglers took… we didn't find it, neither do we know which of the two nicked it. It's perplexing you heard all those instances of John pretending to be Sherlock, when your men so clearly stalked us yet Sherlock Holmes is literally a google search away!"

"Quiet girl!" Shan screamed. John winced at her tone, but Ayra remained still. "I will put a bullet in your head to forever stop that motor-mouth."

"That gun is blank." Ayra said nonchalantly, "So what, one of them is going to fire their semi-automatic weapons… here?"

"It would be rather futile and unentertaining to kill you now." Shan clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth as two men picked up Sarah's chair, and placed her in front of the same cross-bow from the circus. Sarah moaned from her muffled mouth, looking at John desperately. "So, might as well see you drown in guilt first."

"Where's the hairpin?" Shan demands, looking at John. "The Empress pin valued at nine million sterling. We already had a buyer in the West and then one of our worker got greedy. He took it and brought it back to London, and you Mr. Holmes… have been searching."

"Please… please, listen, I-I'm not Sherlock Holmes. You have to believe me! I haven't found what you are looking for." John pleaded desperately.

"I need a volunteer from the audience!" Shan shouted, looking around the dark tunnels.

"Cut the theatrics!" Ayra screamed, reaching her boiling point. "We don't have your fucking p-" Ayra said, looking up at the ceiling. It all came crashing down on her – she knew who took it and where it was.

"What?" Shan asked, noticing Ayra's distraction. "You know something, don't you?"

"I'm just a mere student… what can I know?" Ayra said innocently, making Shan burn red in anger. Without saying a word, Shan marched up to the crossbow and stabbed the sandbag to trigger the weight.

Ayra let out a ragged breath and began to chew her lip in panic, fiddling her ropes so she can get out of her restraints in more traditional way.

"Ayra!" John hissed furiously under his breath, making her more nervous.

"I'm thinking!" Ayra shouted in distress, balling her fist. Sherlock should be getting here any second-

"I am not Sherlock Holmes!" John shouted frantically. With a light smirk on the corner of her face, Shan cocks her head to the side.

"I don't believe you." She replied coldly.

"You should you know." A deep, familiar voice rang from the distance, making Ayra release a breath of pure relief. She closed her eyes and murmured her under her breath – he was three minutes late. "Sherlock Holmes is nothing like him at all."

"You got that right, prick." Ayra said, straightening her back. Shan raises her handgun and aims it as the distant silhouette of Sherlock, shooting it blankly. Ayra noticed Sherlock dodge behind a canister, his shadow disappearing again.

"How would you describe me John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?" Sherlock sang, his shadow bouncing around in the darkness.

"Dick-head." Ayra breathed out, following his movement closely.

"Late." John exasperated.

"That's a semi-automatic weapon. If you fire it in here it will travel a thousand meter per second." Sherlock commented.

"Well?" Shan asked, making Ayra roll her eyes and plop her head back in boredom. Ayra perked her head up and noticed on of the men in the further corner crashing into the ground and groaning, with Sherlock's lean, coated figure behind him.

"The radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters… if you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone… might even bounce off and hit _you_." Suddenly, a loud thud of a can crashing in the ground shakes the tunnel, making everyone frazzled.

Ayra smiled and placed her feet flat on the ground firmly. This was her myth-busters moment; can she break this flimsy wooden chair using her body weight like Natasha Romanoff. Sucking in a deep breath, Ayra lifted herself up and used all her weight to crash back on the floor, wood breaking off everywhere.

"Fuck!" Ayra shouted, squeezing her arm. "good thing it was already riddled with termites." Ayra groaned, crawling to John and untangling his ties while Sherlock went to assist Sarah.

"How did you do that?" John exclaimed? "And did you know how dangerous that was?"

"More dangerous than the situation we are in right now?" Ayra chuckled, looking around her to see a man running towards her. Ayra ducked and rolled away as a henchmen launched at her with a sword, missing her with an inch.

She lied back down and kicked the man forcefully on his face, making him topple back and groan. Ayra rolled over and saw Sherlock being choked out by someone while John was lying on the ground, trying to make his way to Sarah.

Blowing away a strand of hair from her face, Ayra winced as someone pulled her back, grabbing onto her long hair. Ayra groaned and reached behind her, grabbing the prep's coat and pulling him towards her. He looked at her dumbfounded, astonished by her speed. She took her elbow and simply knocked him on the right spot, watching him black out on the floor.

The man fell unconscious on the floor, unmoving. She took a small breath and looked behind her, noticing the weight was only a few inches from the trigger plate. "Fuck…" Ayra groaned, running her way to the crossbow.

Sarah squeezed her eyes closed tightly, tears rolling down her face. Just in a split second, John managed to kick on the crossbow and moving it away from Sarah, making the arrow launch and fly past Sherlock to strike the man choking him.

Ayra let out the breath she had been holding in and increased her pace to run to Sarah, untying her. "I'm so sorry." Ayra murmured, while Sarah sobbed with relief. Fatigued, Ayra crashed back when a firm arm held her back.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked slowly.

"I think-" Ayra mumbled, rubbing her head. She straightened her back and made her best effort to look as shaken as possible, without being overly dramatic. She let out a shaky breath and blew strands or her hair from her face.

"You have suffered from a minor concussion." Sherlock said, his thumb brushing across a bump on her forehead. Ayra winced and groaned.

"Ow." She hissed, without warning wrapping her arms around Sherlock and burying her face on his chest. "Please don't be late again." Ayra breathed out. To her surprise, he placed his arms firmly around her waist and patted her back, with no awkwardness like she would anticipate.

"How did you know it was going to be in the tunnels?" Sherlock asked, looking down at Ayra, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a smile.

Ayra looked up and smiled – she remembered noticing a map of the tube tunnel in London in Sherlock's desk, and saw how many were deep underground and closed due to construction. That would seem like the perfect hiding place. She also remembered noting that down on the map. "Isn't it always in the tunnels though?" Ayra smiled, placing her head against his chest.

John moved Sarah's gag and hugged her tightly, soothing her. "I promise, the next date won't be like this." John said, making Ayra wide her eyes and look at Sherlock. It would be quite the miracle if Sarah decides to see John again…

* * *

Sherlock looked around, watching carefully as Scotland Yard raided the place, but he already knew it was pointless – Shan escaped. Taking a deep breath, he looked behind him and saw Ayra being tended by a paramedic. Ayra winced slightly as the paramedic slowly stitched the gaping cut on her arm. She had also taken a nasty hit on her face, leaving a purple bruise.

Tucking his lips in, Sherlock moved his way to the ambulance and leaned against the car. "This runs much deeper than we can anticipate."

"I know, we barely scratched the surface." Ayra mumbled, crooking her eyebrows and looking up at the paramedic, annoyed. "How long do you think this bruise will last? I teach a group of bratty first-years for living and they jump to conclusions."

"Your makeup ought to fix it." Sherlock answered absently, his mind running over Shan's underground black market. Sherlock looked up when he saw the young DI standing awkwardly in front of him. "We'll just slip off. No need to mention us in your report."

"Mr. Holmes…" Dimmock began, exasperated.

"I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career." Sherlock said, making Ayra's eyes shoot up, questioning him.

"I go where you point me." Dimmock confessed, adding a small smirk in the corner of Sherlock's lips. Ducking his head and slowly excusing himself, Sherlock began walking backwards, closer to Ayra.

"Exactly." He said, snapping his head and gesturing Ayra to get up. She smiled brightly, the dimples on her cheeks denting her cheeks. Groaning, she slowly got up and nodded her goodbye to the DI, taking off her shoes and wincing.

"There is a pack of Malboro in your right pocket. Be a dear and give me one please." Ayra murmured, swinging her shoes over her shoulders. "Only the Holy Being above knows how much I need a drink right now." Sherlock rolled his eyes and held out his arm, waiting for her to link her arm to his.

Ayra gave him a sly smile, linking her arms to his. He pulled out a safety pack he keeps with him at all times and pulled out a thin, white cigarette. Ayra took the cigarette from him and placed it against her rich, darkly painted lips.

"These nicotine patches are absolute rubbish." Sherlock commented, pulling out a cigarette from the pack and lighting it up. "Why did the twenty-first century suddenly have to revoke the "style" from smoking a fag? It's really dysfunctional." He continued to complain, taking a long drag.

"Honestly fuck society." Ayra commented, blowing out a puff of poisonous smoke. "They have no right to tell us how to regulate our poor lifestyle choices, or expedite lung cancer."

The corner of Sherlock's lips quirked up, looking down at the girl. "Fancy chips?" Sherlock asked, pulling up the collars of his coat and walking swiftly away from the chaos behind him. Ayra widened her beautiful eye's smirking.

"Like you even need to ask!" She exclaimed, pulling Sherlock's arm painfully. Sherlock murmured something under his breath, but she knew it was some lines of insults directed towards her. Ayra was silent next to him, but he could still feel her prying, strange eyes look up to him.

"It's bothering you, isn't it?" Ayra said. "That she is out of the loose?"

"Of course, it is." Sherlock said, making Ayra shrug.

"She is someone you should hardly lose any sleep over." Ayra said, tucking inside her jacket. "Black market antiquities – I mean there are more loathsome criminals out there who need attention."

"She is just the middleman." Sherlock said, looking down at her. "I am sure she had other help to get into the UK."

"Of course she has connections here." Ayra whined, doing a little hop. "But who gives a rats-ass? There are so many more interesting beings out there- like the potential cannibal in Lyon."

Sherlock smiled, nodding his head. "Yes… that does seem like a rather fruitful case, doesn't it?"

"Now, my back really hurts, you know, fighting and trying to save myself from the Chinese triad and all." Ayra pursed her lips. "So, some of Mrs. Hudson's herbal remedies sound fantastic right about now."


	11. Chapter 11

Seattle, Washington

11 years ago

Ayra took a deep breath as sweat poured down her forehead, slowly trickling down her neck. She nervously continued to peel the skin around her chewed fingernails, close enough to draw blood. She was tense, obviously, but her eyes remained cold. After fifteen seconds, she finally blinked, her long curled lashes fluttering against her cheek. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she heard a scratch against the floor, a heavy pair of footsteps dragging against the solid concrete.

Ayra crooked her eyebrows and watched the barbed arena lit dimly in the center – nothing but the eerie sound of the spotlight swinging above. The room was full, she knew that… but there was not a hush, nor a breath of a single audience around her. she knew they were there. She didn't want to do this… she never wanted to do this.

She gathered her long tangled hair and twisted them into a knot on top of her head, removing all loose strands. The dragging in the distance drew closer, and the loud thump of heavy cane echoed the dark room. She stood in the middle, clutching onto her weapon, the sweat beginning to pour down in sheets, like waterfall. It's not that she was nervous, because she knew she was going to live… but it's what _she had_ to do to survive.

"I don't want to do this." Twelve year-old Ayra murmured, not looking behind her.

"I think you know I don't give a rats ass about your needs, Ayra." A croaking voice rang up behind her, making Ayra crease her eyebrows. "All this time and you still insist on being a pain in my ass-"

"I promised you from day one that I will make your life a living hell." Ayra replied coldly, letting the grip from her weapon loose slightly. "I intend on keeping my word."

"If you weren't the best around here, you'd be dead a long time ago." The old man croaked, handing the young Ayra a sharp blade. "You know what to do." He added, turning his back to her, staring into the fading concrete wall.

Ayra looked down at her gleaming sliver blade, imagining the red that will soak it soon. "Yeah fuck you too, you cryptic bastard."

* * *

Central London, United Kingdom

Present Day

Sherlock stood still, perhaps too still. Was time frozen, or were his muscles having severe delayed reactions – if so, how interesting indeed. He moved his eyes, ever so slowly, watching the smoke from the dimly lit joint fading away. Fluttering his eyelashes slowly, he focused on the snorting laughter, haunting the room. How incredibly disgusting indeed!

On the black leather couch across the living room, a woman lay there, trying to control her breathing as she exploded into a fit of laughter. He focused on the blurry figure across from him, and the defined curves, thick thighs, strong arms came more at view. She had the most exquisite skin, like dark maple syrup trickling down. Then he remembered, that woman was none other than the new addition to 221B Bakers Street.

"Stop laughing." Sherlock spoke, ever so slowly. He could feel his mouth beginning to move, while his mind raced and already shot a slur of uncalled-for insults at her. It was rather annoying really, perhaps this is how ordinary people felt in their everyday lives. "It's rather hideous."

Ayra's long hair spilled like liquid chocolate across the floor, and she hung upside down, her legs resting against the wall. She reached and wiped tears from the corner of her eyes, placing her smartphone in between her chest.

"Welcome back to the real world, Mr. Holmes." Ayra giggled, placing her hand over her mouth as restraint.

"How long was I, well out?" Sherlock asked, slowly tapping his fingers against the hand of his armchair.

"Um, something like, I don't know, a half hour." Ayra replied, twiddling with her phone, quietly giggling to herself. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, looking over the clock place above his door.

"It's 4:00 am." Sherlock replied letting out a long, exasperated breath. "We were back home midnight." Ayra widened her eyes, her mismatched irises constantly moving.

"Wait-" She said, after a long, exhausting pause. "Did we critique a porn together?"

"What would we do that?" Sherlock cried, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why would anyone do that?" he asked softly. It took Ayra a few minutes to register as she slowly sat upright.

"Who was that then? Or maybe it was just me… maybe that was yesterday-" She began the chew the corners or her dug-out nails. "Wait a minute… why would anyone critique porn? Probably because it is the greasiest comedy genre there is… I mean the excessive moaning, the stupendously impossible plot, disgusting acting… why would that hot chick go for that guy… and how the fuck to they do some of the things they do, like that sort of things?"

Sherlock stared at Ayra blankly, his bushy brows crooked into a knot. How did she manage to fascinate him and unnerve him at the same time? He let out a short breath, continuing to bite on her nails absently.

"Wait!" She screamed, making Sherlock jolt slightly in his seat. "Have you never watched porn?" She said, getting up and running towards him. She stopped short and hunched over him, looking down. Sherlock shifted back, uncomfortable by her extremely close proximity. He blinked, focusing on her eyes. They almost looked as if they were changing shades, like swirling paint on a blank canvas. His eyes wandered just for a moment at the very low-cut of her top, her above-average sized, and rather proportionate breasts inches away from the tip of his nose. He looked back up swiftly, blinking rapidly.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, clearing his throat. Ayra narrowed her eyes and said nothing. She turned around and picked up the dimly light joint resting on the astray. It was very, very thick. She suckled on the tip to ignite the fire, taking in a deep inhale and blowing out gray smoke. Without warning, she landed on Sherlock's lap, placing her arm around his neck and crossing her legs over.

"Tell me something, Mr. Holmes." She said, looking up at the fading wallpaper and taking another deep inhale. "Why must to pretend to be a mysterious asexual? Why do you want people to believe that the chase is your sexual release?"

"Get off me-" Sherlock said, trying to budge her off his lap. Her soft flesh was rubbing against him in all the right ways, and he wasn't going to give her that satisfaction. He winced once again and looked at her, the corner of his lips slightly quirked. "And why must you pretend to be this, sexually dominating prey when we both know you aren't."

"Excuse me?" Arya screeched, swinging her legs over Sherlock like a contortist, her hands on her waist. "Are you not calling me your average thot?"

"Are you being ironic?" Sherlock posed. "Because most of the time I can't tell."

"I don't know, worlds only consulting detective… you tell me." She whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

"I think…" He began answering, clearing his throat once again. "I think your boldness is an unfortunate effect of the marijuana." He said, sitting up straighter. "And you aren't sexually dominating."

"Want me to tie you up with that questionably dirty handcuff on your drawer and do chapter 4 from your book?" Ayra arched her eyebrow, smiling wickedly. "Because chapter 4 is the only thing I am willing to do from that- atrocity."

"You seem more of a chapter 16 kind of a lassie." Sherlock replied, a cocky grin plastered on his face.

"Ugh… you wouldn't dare-" She claimed dramatically. "You know, this sexual tension between us makes me really nervous. You are like, literally, the worst thing for anyone's mental health."

"This tension you speak of simply exists in your mind." Sherlock murmured, making Ayra flutter her long lashes.

"Like you aren't enjoying me on your lap." She sang. They both turned around and they heard heavy footsteps on echoing on the doorway, the left leg significantly louder than the right as if they had a small limp. A fatigued John opened the door and entered the flat, still unaware of the two others present.

Sherlock noticed bags under his eyes, clear signs of stress and sleep deprivation. After all, he and his date were kidnapped and almost killed by Chinese gangs. From his absent mindedness and long vexed breath Sherlock deduced he hadn't gotten so lucky after all. John's nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, immediately making a bitter face.

"Mrs. Hudson not agai-" John began, when he yelped and paused, noticing Sherlock and Ayra in a rather compromising position. "What… am I… ahem, interrupting something?" he asked awkwardly, his tan cheeks turning a shade of red.

"Don't be ridiculous John." Sherlock answered plainly, "Ayra was just trying to prove something."

"What was it she was trying to prove." John asked absently, his eyes shifting between the two, confused.

"Completely lost on me." Sherlock shrugged, making Ayra smile.

"Yeah, can't remember either." She answered, shifting her weight off of Sherlock's lap and slowly getting off. "How was your night John?" She asked, giggling.

"The lilo can be uncomfortable, I presume." Sherlock stated, making John grimace.

"How did you- oh never mind! Ayra it smells awful in here!" he whined, marching towards the windows and pushing them open. The living room washed with a blast of cool air.

"It was his idea." Ayra mumbled, beginning to open his kitchen cupboards and rummaging.

"False-" Sherlock followed suit, "What are you doing?"

"Ayra you are supposed to clean up your act." John said, reaching for the joint on Ayra's finger and pulling it away. "And as your unofficial doctor, I am moderating both your narcotic abuse and drinking habits. You are far too bright to waste away like this, and you're still in the beginning stages so it shouldn't be too hard."

"What?" I get back aches." Ayra claimed, her face expressionless. "My OBGYN suggested I get breast reduction surgery." John tilted his head and looked down, pondering over her breasts for a moment. Embarrassed, he looked up and walked away, heading towards the doorway.

"Never mind the two of you!" John mumbled, his eyes towards the door. "I'm off the bed, finally." He whispered, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock watched Ayra's eyes trace John's footsteps, waiting for him to slam his door shut. A bright smile on her face, she pulled something out of Sherlock's lower cabinet,

In her hand she carried an bottle of Hennessy Cognac, the unopened bottle of dark liquid trapped inside the glass bottle. "Want to get cross-faded and get sick on your carpet?"

"Shouldn't you be getting your act together?" Sherlock asked, a distasteful smile on his lips.

"Shouldn't you be doing the same?"

* * *

Ayra felt herself nearly hanging off the side of the bed, jolting her back on. As soon as she cracked her eyes open, she was greeted with a splitting headache, making her groan in pain. She moaned and closed her eyes back shut, trying to block the grey sunlight through the windows.

She doesn't remember much last night – wow she hasn't blacked out in ages. Then she felt a warmth behind her, holding onto her. She slowly creaked an eye open, looking down to find sleeping Sherlock next to her. She could feel her panic drain away as she settled back in her bed, taking a deep breath.

Why was Sherlock spooning her? Better question, how did Sherlock know how to spoon? More relevant question, what was Sherlock doing in her bed? Everything else beyond that were in fragments. John was there at some point… porn was probably involved. That's a ludricous thought! Why would porn be involved… she didn't make another sex tape, did she?

She shook her head, immediately regretting so as the splitting headache smashes though her bones, as if they were shattering on their own. She shook her aching body, trying to pry away from his strong grasp. Ayra stopped struggling and looked up in the ceiling. If she revealed anything remoting incriminating about herself, or about her past and who she was.

No, she would never do that. Because she had developed a certain appreciation for drugs and alcohol, Ayra has trained herself never to spill the beans. She would have only told him fragments, fragments which would have made no sense and drove him to the brink of insanity.

Ayra took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder, watching Sherlock sleep peacefully. His eyes were lightly closed, his long eyelashes created a shadow on his pale cheeks. His blemish-less sink glowed under the fading sunlight, making him look ethereal. Damn, he was a sight to behold, but certainly had the tendency to be a prickly thorn.

Ayra struggled to get up, her entire body aching. She turned to the side and cracked her stiffened neck, remembering the a rather tawdry conversation. Ayra widened her eyes and paused, looking down at the sleeping Sherlock. She was glad that nothing more happened, yet at the same time it was sorely disappointing.

Ayra smiled slyly, her dimples denting her cheeks. Deciding to let Sherlock sleep a little longer, since Sherlock barely ever sleeps, she headed toward her kitchen when she whiplashed and hit the arch, her nose piercing pressing painfully against her nose. She moved back and shook her head in pain, groaning loudly.

With her line of curses, Sherlock cracked his eyes open, watching Ayra pace back and forth in her room and scream abuse at the doorway. She diverted her attention and looked at him when she noticed he was up. A wide smile formed on her face, her dimples appearing.

"Well good morning Casanova." She taunted, giggling. Sherlock took a breath and stared at her blankly, pushing himself up.

Sherlock blinked rapidly, his expression blanked. He turned his lips upside down and groaned, burying his head on the soft pillow. "Why are you always here!"


	12. Chapter 12

After a momentary excitement chasing the Chinese Triad, Sherlock felt bored once again. Yes, there were cases that was offered to him, but they all simply seemed too unvaried. It felt as if it had been a lifetime since he was last mentally challenged. He let his head slump backwards, staring blankly up at the unadorned cream ceiling. Perhaps he ought to dip into his Mind Palace; it shall cut a few hours of this unbearable dullness. Just as he was about to close his eyes, he heard pounding footsteps running down the stairs, the aged floorboards creaking amidst each step. John wasn't joyful enough to skip, anywhere at any time, which meant it was only one other person.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked as she passed through the front door. He didn't bother to look up, but he knew she had stopped as the hallway still very still, completely silent.

"Perhaps." Ayra sang. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, but he heard soft tip-toes towards him. From the sudden shifts of polyester fabrics, he could tell she just took a seat at John's armchair. "You seem to be sulking, Sherlock." She pouted, making Sherlock push his head into and upright position. "Wasn't yesterday's triumphant victory enough to satisfy your appetite?"

"What victory?" Sherlock asked, blinking rapidly.

Ayra shifted her dissimilar eyes, frowning her eyebrows slightly in confusion. "Um, you know, the whole case where John, myself and his lovely date got kidnapped by a bunch of Chinese acrobats?"

"That was yesterday?" Sherlock asked in utter disbelief. "Feels like a lifetime ago…" he mumbled to himself. "How inexplicably dull this day has been, then."

Ayra smiled, putting on a playful pout on her lips. "Aw, you really forgot about our late night spooning session?" She pressed her lips into a tight line and smiled, her dimples denting her cheeks.

Sherlock blinked his eyes, suddenly not feeling so bored. Ayra had a particular glint in her eyes when she was in the mood to play games, and oh how Sherlock loved to win games. He smirked, placing his hand under his chin. "My mind erases unimportant events to make space for pertinent information." He commented, making Ayra scoff in response.

"Oh really?" she said, playing with a strand of her hair. "For the world's only consulting detective, you don't seem to be such a good liar."

"Why should I need to lie in order to do what I do?" Sherlock remarked, arching his eyebrows. Ayra inhaled through her nostrils, sitting up straighter. One thing he noticed about her was her remarkable posture, suggesting her background in gymnastics or yoga.

"Still trying to rack your brain about the 95% you got wrong about me?" She asked, tilting her head and smiling. "Or were you simply… just admiring?"

"You overestimate yourself, Ayra." Sherlock responded quickly. Once again unaffected by his insults, she narrowed her eyes and smiled.

"Still attempting to pull the 'asexual' card on me?" Ayra kept smirking, making Sherlock frown deeper. She pushed herself back and tucked her legs in, making herself comfortable. "The other day, I was reading one of those trivialized news sources that write fluff pieces only. Well I was reading Buzzfeed, but I found myself reading a story of a man who reminded me of you in some ways."

Sherlock slumped his head backwards, staring at her with his cunning, icy blue eyes. "Yes, how so?"

"A professor in University of Chicago was arrested for soliciting a prostitute. He claimed that it was not solicitation, but rather an experiment he was conducting on the sexual behaviors of working girls. You see, this professor was an expert on human sexual behavior, thus for his recent study, he claimed to conduct a qualitative interviews with prostitutes in an isolated motel room while naked… you know, to delve better into their psyche."

Sherlock tilted his head, his lips slightly furrowing. "How is this-"

"It's rude to interrupt, Mr. Holmes." Ayra interjected, making Sherlock frown deeper. "The prosecution debunked his defense as the defendant was found in a rather compromising situation with his test subject, which lay the grounds for solicitation." Ayra gestured. "But, he was an idiot you see, but this idiotic move saved his ass since he filmed the whole encounter, making it a rather unflattering and lewd pornographic film, therefore, protecting the encounter under first amendment speech."

Ayra paused, looking up for a moment. "Side note, the footage was somehow leaked to the public and it's trending in Pornhub right now." She inhaled deeply before continuing. "Anyways, he was let go but inevitably fired due to severe breach in research ethics and, well, rather callous behavior, he was fired from his job. And it was later discovered that he made home videos with all thirty-seven of the women he supposedly interviewed." She shrugged, sinking herself further into the armchair.

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment before realizing she was done with her colorful story. "Okay, and this tawdry man relates to me, how exactly?" Sherlock crossed his legs, anxiously waiting for her response. Ayra smiled widely, making him uncomfortable with the anticipation of what she would have to say.

"Said professor, was a hypersexual man, you see, who had an affinity for Victorian torture bondage, and god knows what that really is." Ayra contorted her face in disgust, shaking her head. "Anyways, while you may not be nearly as extreme as he was, he too, was a man who was masking his naturally hypersexual needs through the means of science… just like you!"

Sherlock widened his eyes at this hysterical accusation, making him flare his nostrils and slam his hands on the armrests. "You're comparing me to that pathetic man?" Sherlock shook his head, shaking his mop of unruly dark curls. "Is that shame I feel?"

"Yes, I am comparing you to him and here is why." Ayra said, standing from the chair and walking over to his bookshelf. Sherlock followed her move intently, and froze when she pulled his book of sexual intercourse out. She displayed the cover of the book to him, a terrifying proud smile on her face. "This, good sir, is your research right?"

Sherlock slammed his back once again and exasperated, rolling his eyes. "Clearly." He answered, trying to keep his voice as monotone as possible.

"You see, I'm as nosy as you are, and perhaps that's the reason why we click." She said, a dark sultry tone to her voice. "Anyways, I was feeling particularly nosy one day and you were having one of your, ' _delving-into-the-subconscious-Mind-Palace-vault'_ moments and I pulled out this book. While flipping through this racy piece of literature, I found small post-it notes with your handwriting noting all rather risqué encounters you've had with Subjects A, B, C, and D… in appreciative detail." Ayra smiled.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and suddenly stood up, towering over her. She has no right to go through his properties, and she certainly does not have the right to find out more about him than he has found about her. Through Sherlock's extensive snooping, he has found surprising little about his new, infallible neighbor. Day after day she was becoming more of a complex riddle to solve, all the more making her very interesting. "It's rude to look through other's belongings Ayra."

She looked up and placed the book against her nose. The corners of her wide eyes wrinkled as she smiled under the book. "You went through my things, and curiosity is a two-way street." Sherlock tilted his head, a smug look in his face. While snooping, he found many hidden surveillance cameras placed in covert locations of her apartment. He knew the surveillance equipment MI6 used, and those weren't his brother's bidding meaning they were hers. She also had three-safe lock placed in her phone. After three attempts on entering the passcode, he ended up locking her phone, so she inevitably knew.

"Yes, I noticed your camera's Ayra." Sherlock blinked, noticing he was inches away from her. He took in a deep breath and backed away ever so slightly. She smelled of Gucci Guilty, which was common to evoke an erotic reactions. He gulped nervously – he rather enjoyed when women wore good perfume. Trying to focus, he continued. "You're rather paranoid, aren't you?"

She blinked, placing the book under her chin. "Well of course I am! Look at what's happening in the world!"

"Wouldn't say that was your reasoning for having covert, and might I say highly lucrative cameras in your flat, an extra-protective phone, owning not one, but two military grade knives and sleeping with a semi-automatic pistol on your nightstand." Sherlock smiled. For the slightest moment, a flicker of confusion appeared on her face, but it disappeared in an instant. Oh he was nagging onto something here.

"I'm a trigger-happy American." She shrugged. "But stop trying to change the subject, we were talking about you – so as I was saying, I then took your phone and went through your contact list and quite simply found, subjects A, B, C and D. Rather predictable really." Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his gaze snake-like. "And called them only to find out, they were rather cheap…"

"You broke into my phone?" Sherlock said, taking a step back. "You're growing rather bold."

"If I didn't know any better Sherlock, but I think you're coming onto me." Ayra smiled, quirking her eyebrows. She remained silent for a while, her eyes shifting ever so slightly from left to right. "Want to do something to relieve your boredom?"

"I'm not interested in having intercourse with you at the moment." Sherlock replied, making Ayra smile slyly.

"Bullshit." She winked, making him roll his eyes. "I was thinking of something else, you see, I am a boxing enthusiast and from what I gather, so are you." Ayra replied. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and watched her – yes, she was very athletic but he didn't see her as a boxer. According to her, he got only 5% of her right, which was really beginning to take a toll on his abilities.

Moreover, she was a challenge, and she was becoming a greater challenge every day. It was killing him secretly, but he couldn't let her know that. He looked at her, and only saw small, obvious details one at a time – perhaps this is how ordinary people function. With everyone else, he simply saw everything, their work, family life, secrets… everything. But with Ayra, it was becoming more of a blur every day.

"Ayra I am very skilled, you are going to lose." Sherlock replied smugly. After all, he was very good at boxing. That was something he had an upper hand with Mycroft.

"You're really that confident?" Ayra asked, arching her eyebrows. "Okay, let's make this interesting. It is midnight now and the boxing training gym right around the corner is closing soon. I have made friends with the owner and he has given me permission to come in after hours to practice on my own. So, we box it out-" She paused.

"What are the prizes?" he asked. "That was what you were going for, wasn't it?"

Ayra nodded. "If you win, I will reveal one secret about me to give you the mental satisfaction that you so desperately need. And if I win… let's just say you are required to read me a bedtime story." Ayra held up the book in her hands, smirking sinisterly.

Sherlock took a step closer, looking down at her. "That's a feeble attempt to bed me, Ayra." He whispered, making her chuckle in response.

"Either way the we are going to be in my bed Sherlock, one of us handcuffed to the headboard." Ayra said, moving away and heading for the door. "And my bet is you like being cuffed."

"My bet is so do you." Sherlock replied. "You may be forward but you are not sexually dominating." Ayra stopped, turning her head around and arching her eyebrows. She twirled her hand and gestured him to come along.

"Congratulations Mr. Holmes, you just bumped up from 5 percent to 7."

* * *

Sherlock watched as Ayra bend her body and slid under the ropes of the ring, slowly. She was taunting him, making him believe that she was actually going to defeat him. She might have been better than most people, in many ways, but she wasn't Sherlock. Ayra paid no attention to him whatsoever, simply had her back to him as she took off her hoody to reveal her toned stomach. She had the perfect hourglass curved, yet her body looked rugged, as if it had seen battle.

Although the lights in the facility were turned off, the faint moonlight from the broad windows shows fading scars on her lower waist, and a tattoo inscribed on her right rib. Her form was something he could appreciate, and anyone should. She was, as the various magazines and television entertainment news outlets said, beautiful. Of course he did not have a margin of beauty since he was never taught the concept, but, there were just some who were much more pleasing to the eyes than others. She actually seemed rather serious as she carefully placed her boxing mitts on, tightening the straps around her wrist.

"I'll give you two bonuses." Ayra said, gathering her long loose hair onto a messy ponytail, with strands still loosely hanging around her round face. "The scars are from the time I climbed a tree and fell from it, and the tattoo says _'Do or do not, there is no try'_ from Yoda, and this other tattoo on my wrist is the Deathly Hollows symbol."

"Yes, I looked that up, it's from a children's novel Harry Potter." Sherlock commented, "I personally don't understand people's fascination with the series, like witches and wizards and dragons really that revolutionary?" making Ayra drop her water bottle and turn to face him in shock. She watched him wide-eyed, an animated horror in her face.

"Harry Potter… a children's novel- not revolutionary!" Ayra announced dramatically, "you are an insult to your kind, and by that I mean human." Ayra said, pumping her fists together and jumping in place, beginning to warm herself up. "There isn't a soul, besides you apparently, who doesn't know what Harry Potter is."

"I thought you were under the impression that I wasn't human." Sherlock said, wrapping his mitts around his wrists and watching her, smiling giddily.

"All the more reasons to believe so." She breathed out, placing her feet firmly on the ground. "Ok the rules are simple – there are no rules, we can play as dirty as we want… just no serious injuries."

"No worries, I will try to go easy on you." Sherlock chuckled, getting in position. "Although more often than not you make my blood boil."

"Right back at you-" she said as she swiftly swung her fist on Sherlock's cheek, making him wince. He looked up and watched her smile, making he get up an attempt a swing from underneath when she turned her back to him and somehow managed to come behind him in a matter of split seconds and hit him in his waist.

That was it, Ayra wasn't playing around. Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, he pulled her in front of him and hit her on her stomach, making her slightly groan, but she was quick to retaliate; using her leg to pull him in, she managed to punch him three more times in the gut, making his abdomen burn. Sherlock had enough of it, and when he was beginning to give his full attempt, they came to a match.

He had to admit, she was more finessed than any opponents he had ever faced, only begging more questions about her. She was unpredictable to read, therefore it was nearly impossible to anticipate her moves. Under the dim moonlight he watched her caramel brown color painted with a red hue, sweat pouring down her forehead. She was inexplicably swift on her feet, and he was finding it rather difficult at this point to defeat her. She was beginning to become more aggressive, only becoming more transparent. She was no mere university athlete. The girl had professional training.

Finally, Sherlock focused on his breathing, and slowly began to saw everything in slow motion. This was a trick he learned when finessing his skill in Muay Thai training – Muay Thai fighters used a technique where they reached a stage of heightened agility through controlled breathing. In a flicker of a moment, he saw his opportunity and grabbed Ayra by the waist, pushing her down on the mat under him.

Ayra panted under him, her elusive eyes looking up at him. "Excuse me sir, but what the fuck?" she gasped for air.

"You said there weren't any rules." Sherlock locked her arms above her head, his body pressing down on hers. "There you have it- I win." Sherlock smiled.

Ayra snickered under her breath, lifting her chin up. "You are a dirty boy Sherlock." Pushed him aside, rolling over and pushing her body to sit up. Crossing her legs and her back straight, she sat across from her, her breathing now steady. "But I guess a promise is a promise."

"Those scars are not from falling from a tree." Sherlock replied, pointing at her three fading scars. "Those were done ten to eleven years ago with something sharp, although not a knife the marks are simply too fine-" he continued when Ayra spoke.

"I was kidnapped." She interjected, making Sherlock stop. For the first time, he could see a shadow of melancholy on her, taking over her masked appearance. Relaxing her back more, looking down. Sherlock knit his eyebrows, much more intrigued than he anticipated to be. "I was missing for a year, but I don't remember anything-"

"Repressed memories…" Sherlock whispered under his breath, watching her body language intently. "You remember nothing?"

"Not afterwards, no." Ayra shrugged. "My brain did me a favor and suppressed all the trauma to shield me, and for good reasons I believe." She pointed to her scars, lightly running her fingers over them. "There were a lot more when they found me."

"What happened? From the beginning please." He said, lacing his fingers together and pressing them against his lips. She was right, this was rather stimulating for his brain activity.

She took in a deep breath, finally meeting his eyes. "I was coming home one day from soccer practice-" she began.

"Football." Sherlock corrected, making her narrow her eyes and put on a fading smile. The smile disappeared within seconds however.

"I was coming home from soccer practice after school. I always walked home after practice, and that day our practice extended an hour over… and the sun had already began to set." She wavered off, as if visualizing her ordeal. "I was twelve, and naturally had my headphones on full blast listening to angsty songs. I felt a tingle in my back, as if there was someone behind me. Before I could look around, the man placed a cloth over my mouth, and poof, I woke up one year later… with nothing but fragments for memories." Ayra absently played with the edge of her fingernails, blinking.

Sherlock remained quiet for the longest time, observing her. "What are the fragments you remember?" Ayra stopped fiddling with her fingernails and looked up, narrowing her eyes.

"Just blurs of nonsense… but I know I wasn't the only one." Ayra said. "Actually, there were close to fifty other children. But by the time the police found us, only twenty of us survived." Ayra blinked once again, stretching her back. "The man who kept us was nowhere to be found. And before fleeing, he killed as many of us as he possibly could. The FBI later informed us that this may have been the work of some cult, but there was nothing constructive, at all. Every shred of evidence was burned to the ground. And I remembered nothing."

"Oh you are anything but ordinary-" Sherlock splurged out, hoping her didn't sound awfully insensitive. To his relief she smiled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You had be classified as ' _ordinary_ ' this whole time?" Ayra smirked, taking off her mitt and throwing it at him. "I'm disappointed."

"Why was this never covered in the news?" Sherlock asked, making Arya's expression stern. "Something this astronomical would have extensive news coverage, internationally."

She bit her lip, gulping. "One of the victims were the son of a prominent Senator. The whole operation was kept very hush, since the son didn't make it. He had a stake in all the major media outlets in America, and it was rather embarrassing for the FBI that they found nothing – no motif, no offender… nothing."

"Just twenty survivors?" Sherlock asked, twiddling his thumbs. "Crossed state jurisdiction?"

"Of course, that's why it wasn't investigated sooner." Ayra lay down flat on her back, throwing away her remaining mitt. "Apparently the victim pool was located all over the country, but we were all about the same age, some a few years older or younger than me."

"That's it?" Sherlock asked in disbelief. "Those imbeciles found nothing else? What about you? Didn't you pursue an investigation of your own after you grew older?"

Ayra shifted her head to the side to face him, her eyes perfectly still. "I am thankful every day that I don't remember a damn thing from that year. And while I do have the ability to solve this mystery, I wish not to." Ayra groaned, shifting to her side. "Because you see, the only mystery to me is why he hasn't come for the survivors yet."

"The man who was responsible?" Sherlock said absently. "There is uncomfortably insufficient details on this - it's bothering me… but you gave me something to do, so thank you." Sherlock got up and walked towards the ropes when Ayra extended out her leg Sherlock crashed on the mat, falling on his side. Ayra climbed on top of him without hesitation and locked his arms to his side, smiling mischievously.

"I get the sense that you wanted to be in this position." Ayra jeered, making Sherlock gulp.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've already won our futile wager." Sherlock replied. Arya's smile disappeared as she brought her face closer and closer to his. She was so close that he could feel her warm breath hitting his fevered skin. She smelled of mint gum, and that sultry Gucci perfume. Sherlock tingled as her lips came in contact with his cheekbones, barely dragging.

Chills ran down his spine as she brought her lips to his ear, whispering ever so softly. "I'm not that easy, Sherlock."

* * *

IS THIS A NEW CHAPTER? A YEAR LATER? I think so. Yes, I have finally finished editing the previous chapters, and surprisingly wrote a new one. Please please please don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments down below, and please keep in mind that things are about to become very hot and heavy in the near future. And I mean very.

I already started (somewhat) working on the next chapter, and stay tuned as I will upload another chapter in a the next few weeks. Yes, i am continuing.

Until next time 3


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